


Cinders

by Fics4you



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF, Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Achievement Hunter Heists, Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Cutesy, Domestic Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, FAHC, Fake AH Crew, Female Jack, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, GTA AU, Graphic, Graphic Description, Gun Violence, Immortal Fake AH Crew, Slow Burn, Torture, Vagabond, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 05:22:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 36
Words: 90,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12005919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fics4you/pseuds/Fics4you
Summary: Having broken from the Fake AH Crew years before, Ray has become your partner in crime. An operation in Los Santos, however, soon leaves you stranded and you're forced to face the demons of your past. Cooperation is key to battling a new threat, and when your paths cross again, you're thrust into a life you had long since left; but dearly missed.It's a bloodbath of miscommunication, crime and feelings.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to leave me a Kudos or comment to let me know that you want to see me uploading on this platform. If tumblr is more your speed, check me out there under the same name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You had been partners with Ray for years, the two of you raising your infamous reputation from the ground up ever since your Fake AH Crew days. Your skills were unquestionable, and just as strong as the banter. But you soon find yourself stranded in Los Santos, the threat of running into the Fakes becoming an increasingly strong, and terrifying, possibility.

You swiftly dart across the sidewalk and allow the comfortable familiarity to engulf you, the same as it had so many years ago. The faint sound of your shoes whisper across the asphalt, wind dancing through your hair in the warm glow of the city lights as you move. Ducking behind a small hot dog stand, you force your back against its cool surface. Your dark clothing shrouds you in the night as you scan the area; tugging the black bandanna away from your mouth slightly and pressing a finger to the device in your ear. “Anything?” you breathe, coming into a crouch and peering over the vendor. Across the block, you faintly see a man’s head peeking around the corner of a store, and he motions to you with an exaggerated wave and a flash of purple. “Nothing” he replies, before motioning upwards and behind you. “We’re clear for now”.

Turning to the building you leap at the brick with a powerful push from your left leg; hauling yourself up the side and onto the roof with ease. “Awesome, nice going, Ray” you say, looking down and across the street to him. You can see him smile as he pulls away the his hood to reveal his beaming face, giving you a big thumbs up before disappearing into the dark alley behind him; reappearing on an opposite roof a moment later. You both simultaneously draw your weapons, and as you perch on the edge of the roof to overlook the small, dimly lit store with the knife clutched tightly in your hand, you see Ray centering his sniper rifle. “Right” he says cheerfully, staring into the scope “you should be good all the way.” You give a tight nod as you lean further into the open space, waiting for the guards to move into position beneath you.

“On my mark” you say, watching as two men approach jovially, crossing their arms and joking quietly with one another.

“Now”, you throw yourself gracefully off the ledge as the muffled shot rings out, the bullet hitting the guard to your left as you land on the back of the remaining man, who looks from his colleague’s collapsed body and up to you; his face a mask of shock. You offer him an apologetic smile before quickly running the knife across this throat, silencing the panicked noises that had begun to gurgle from his lips. You let him fall gently, laying him on the ground before relocating the two men into the shadows, seating them against a wall. Wiping your knife on their clothing, you return it to its concealed location against your side. When you turn back to the roof Ray is grinning, and you wave. “Nice one” you compliment, and he lets out a small chuckle, crouching into his rifle again. “You fucking know it”. You make your way to the door, carefully planting your feet whilst pulling the lock pick from your boot. “Camera’s all sorted?” you ask absentmindedly, searching for the correctly sized instrument.

“Yup” he responds, “the feed was cut before we even hit the street”

“And you double checked the guard route, no last minute changes?”

Ray scoffs “You doubting me?”

“I would never” you smirk, feeling his eyes watching your back; cautious and defensive.  
“So,” he mutters into the com as you bend to the lock, beginning to work, “come here often?” You roll your eyes, hearing the faint click of the tumblers before standing and gently easing the door open; pulling inside. “God, small talk is not your forte” you tease, taking in your surroundings with eager eyes.  
“Ooh, that explains everything,” he jives, his voice saturated with disappointment as you laugh. Pulling a burlap sack from your backpack, you inch around the displays of glittering jewels and head towards the cash terminal to remove the final security measure. “I always wondered why I couldn’t get girls to talk to me” he continues as you reach for the security lock under the desk, hearing a faint pop as you click it off. “Oh trust me, there are other reasons” you fire back through a smile, stopping to search for him outside. “Fucking wrecked” he says, chuckling. Your smile widens into a grin as you spot him, the faint dusting of moonlight illuminating his excited eyes.

“You ready? We’ll have about eight minutes before the remaining guards notice that there’s something off with the rotation” 

“We took out 3 groups” he says, slightly annoyed “should have taken them all out”

“Nah” you shrug, approaching the closest case whilst pulling a brass knuckle on to your free hand, flexing your fingers, eyes still trained on your partner. “Where’s the fun in that?” Silence now, nothing but the wind rushing to accompany the odd buzzing of a street light and the distant sound of late night city traffic. Your eyes remain on Ray, and then you see him nod. “Go.”

With speed you apply immense force to the glass with your knuckles, hearing the satisfying shatter as glass sprays the floor. Within an instant, your scooping up everything you can, quickly getting it into your bag before moving on with little hesitation. Without breaking stride, you crack other display and a sweeping motion manages to get its contents into the bag. Ray’s voice crackles in your ear as you work, “we’ve got the first verbal response” he states, “LSPD have been alerted, they’re rounding up a team as we speak.” You lean down, ripping out some draws and tipping the jewellery onto the collection, swiftly moving on. “Guards on their way, we removed a good portion of the local rotation so it’ll take a while.”

  
“Great, keep me updated. When you see trouble”, another smash, another case emptied; “let me know and we’re gone.”

“No promblemo”

  
You kick out a foot, smashing a tall stand as glass showers in fragments around you, glittering like the diamonds encased within it. Lashing out, you swipe what you can, before Ray comes through again. “Lights and sirens, about 3 minutes away. Police are gonna get here fast”. You swear under your breath before tying your now overflowing bag hastily and stowing it away. “The fuck happened to advance notice?” you question, exiting the building smoothly, throwing your arms up at him in exasperation. You see him stand, putting his sniper away and beckoning for you frantically. “You wanted fun” he says, but you can hear the smirk in his voice.

You run towards Ray, forcing yourself upwards and onto the exterior wall with another strong bound from your left leg, moving quickly up and to the roof; though you are slower this time and weighed down by the stolen goods. “90 seconds” Ray warns, eyes sparkling in enjoyment as the sirens grow louder.  
“Wait”, you look up, hearing the booming sound of helicopters heading in your direction; you give Ray a pointed glare. “Choppers?” you say, breaking into a sprint as Ray keeps pace with you, launching across the roofs before cautiously ducking behind cover. “You weren’t gonna say anything?” He looks at you, chest heaving slightly as he pushes his hair back into his beanie.”Didn’t even occur to you to bring it up?” you scoff, head against the wall as you see the blinding light of a helicopter sweep over head.  
“What did you expect?” he retorts as you begin to move across the space, seeking the ladder that you knew would take you downwards to the street. “Choppers are literally a staple here” he says, crawling over to you as you swing yourself onto the rusty metal, sliding down as your hands catch and burn. You look up at him, realising that he’s right. Still, unable to admit it, you hold up your hand and raise your middle finger.

“Classy, you’re a real catch”, he works his way down the ladder and you sink to your knees, hearing the screeching of wheels pulling up to the now empty jewellers. “No, really” he whispers as he presses forward, beckoning you down the alley, “Like, you’re just a pleasure.” You punch him gently as you pass, light on your feet as you move towards the designated side door hideaway. “Again, proving my point!” he jokes as you yank it open, slipping inside, holding it for him. “Such a lady” he mutters, sliding down to join you on the floor. In the dark, you both wait in silence, nothing but the heavy drumming of your hearts to fill the space. Breathing heavily, you listen to the commotion outside as Ray tunes in to the police’s communication channel, monitoring them to determine when you’ll be all clear to start moving again.  Rolling your head to look at him, you jab him in the side, making him jump; “I’m such a fucking lady” you say to him, before sniggering. He joins you, your soft laughter mingling together and you listen to the sirens and yelling fade away.

 

* * *

 

Walking with purpose, you make your way down the street and to the park, a large sunhat and sunglasses shielding your face from curious eyes. Perching on an isolated bench, you pull out a book and begin to busy yourself with pretending to read whilst looking around, waiting for the client to arrive. Time passes slowly, the heat beating down against the bare skin of your shoulders, your jeans soaking in the sun. A man approaches you in a suit from the foliage, his arms opening to welcome you as if you were familiar to one another. You stand, forcing a smile onto your face and embracing him, feeling him pull away after an exaggerated moment. You bag becomes heavier as he deposits the payment in a sweeping motion, unnoticeable now his hands delicately adorn your waist. You stare up into his muddy blue eyes, wrapping your arms around his neck to lean intimately towards the man whose name you will never remember. “Ready to go?” you tease, playing with the back of his hair. He blushes, despite himself. “Yeah” he says clumsily, touching you under the chin before moving his hand down to clasp your own. Motioning for you both to start moving, you offer him the book innocently; the goods buried inside.

“It’s a gem” you joke, swinging your hands slightly as you walk, heading towards the final stage of the interaction. After walking a few blocks in near silence you stop outside of a small cafe, bright yellow sun umbrellas decorating its outside tables. Turning to your client, you give him a smile, leaning up to brush your cheek against his own in what you hope appears to be an intimate gesture. “It was nice doing business with you” you say before he holds you out at arm’s length, smiling once more and disappearing into the crowd with a rueful expression. Letting your face relax, you head over to an empty table, settling on to the warm wooden bench. Moments later Ray joins you, smirking and clutching a tablet. “He didn’t even check” he says, astonished as he drops into the seat opposite you. You laugh musically as a waiter approaches, ordering drinks as so to avoid suspicion. “I’m a little disappointed” you admit, “I put a lot of work into getting them as accurate as possible”. Ray rolls his eyes, their depths sparkling in the warm glow of the day as they regard you with affectionate pride. “But just think of it” he says, folding his arms behind his head and leaning back, tilting his face to the sun; “they’ll be handed down for generations before anyone notices they’re fakes”.

“And we’ll be long gone by then” you conclude, before a monumental explosion surges through the streets, dousing the airport in flames.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stranded in Los Santos, both Ray and yourself are left to battle with the final memories you have from the Fake AH Crew.

You had only intended to stay is Los Santos for a few days to run some operations, but it quickly became apparent that your time in the city would be extended indefinitely; much to Ray’s dissatisfaction. The news of the explosion resulting in an airspace lockdown ruined your plans; destroying the schedule you both worked so hard to maintain. Now lounging on the couch in your old Los Santos apartment you lazily watch Ray pace back and forth in front of you. “Ray” you say gently, looking at the anxious expression on his face and stress setting into his shoulders, “come here”. You stand up, beckoning him to you. He pulls a face, before shuffling over to you and leaning his head on top of yours, hands hanging by his side. You wrap your arms around him anyway, letting him enjoy the comfort before you whisper “you’ve been blocking the TV”. You feel him grimace, pushing you back onto the couch before dropping down next to you, head in his hands. You sigh, knowing that despite the amusement creeping momentarily onto his face; Ray had become extremely uncomfortable since the lockdown.

You pull him towards you, draping an arm around his shoulders and resting your head against his chest. “Ray...” you start, watching the images of the explosion littering the news; clicking it off and feeling him let out a deep sigh. “I just don’t wanna be here” he grumbles, heavily leaning into you and throwing you off balance. You shove him back as he smirks, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I know, neither of us do”, you say apologetically, sinking back into the plush cushions and listening to the faint noises drifting in from the street. “It’s gotta be them” you state, sure of yourself. Your stomach twists at the thought, the dry nagging in your chest begging for you to avoid the subject.

“Y/N,” Ray begins to complain, letting himself fall to the other side of the couch, pushing you away with his feet. You swat at them, scowling and ripping off one of his socks, tossing it across the room. “My foot’s cold” he wines, continuing to wriggle away from you.   
“We’ve gotta talk about it” you state as he groan at your words, rolling on to his front and burying his face into the seat cushions, letting his arms hang. “Do we have to?” his voice is muffled, and you feel sadness creep over you. Shuffling uncomfortably, you hold Ray’s leg and give it a squeeze. “Yeah, we do. Something big has to be going on, they must have set off the explosion to get the sky shut down and-“ he cuts you off dejectedly, groaning into the fabric of the couch “No, I don’t want to talk about the crew. I don’t even want to acknowledge that they exist”. You give him another understanding pat and you drift back, letting the memories wash over you as the pain cuts into you as fresh as ever.

 

* * *

 

 

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Geoff bellows as you bolt back towards the flames, cinders dancing sombrely on the delicate wind. The sky stretched above you, amber and smoke clashing together like enemies as the gentle lull of night draws near. He reaches out, snatching your wrist to stop you, desperation in his eyes. “Y/N” his voice is frantic as his eyes search your face, “You won’t be able to make it back in”. You look from his hand and up to the building burning and crumbling behind you, torn.   
“He’s still in there” you reply, pleading. Geoff rubs his free hand across his face; his skin caked in ash and despair.   
“You can’t know that”, his voice cracks, “He could have gotten out with a broken com” but you’re already shaking your head to dismiss his words.   
“I have to, Geoff.” You gently peel his fingers from your wrist, squeezing his hand. “I can’t leave him there”, you say simply, rushing forward as Geoff races along side, still trying to convince you of the value your safety holds. “We aren’t leaving him” he exclaims, panting slightly, “Getting yourself killed before backup gets here won’t save anybody!” 

You slow as you pull up to the building, your skin beginning to sear uncomfortably. “We have to get the fire under control first”, he grips you by the shoulders, staring into your eyes “I’m not loosing you too, Cheshire, not another”. You give him a quick smile, jumping into his arms and hugging him close, silent for a moment bar the crackling of destruction surrounding you. “I’m not leaving him there” you whisper, feeling him tense when you throw yourself backward, landing your feet against his chest as you push away and force him back towards the ground. Landing in a crouch, you look at him sadly, begging him to understand before turning quickly and running into the smoke.

Your lungs constrict as you enter the building, hearing the flames roar and structure creak unsteadily as you tie your bandana around your nose to stifle the onslaught of thick smoke. Your eyes fall on Michael as he hurries out of the building, clutching a bleeding and unconscious Gavin. “The fuck?!” he yells as he pushes past you, eyes angry and face pained “Vagabond’s gonna be so pissed if you die”.   
“Then I’ll try my best to make it out” you reply, scanning the area quickly as your heart pounds uncontrollably against your aching ribs. You can hear your crew angrily screaming after you, but as you watch them race towards the entrance the frame collapses; Geoff’s agonised expression the last thing you see before the room is engulfed in flames. With a shudder, you return you gaze to the room, panic nibbling at the edges of your resolve. The stairs are buckling into the fire, leaving the bones of the building exposed beneath a gaping hole choking with plumes of smoke. Taking a deep breath you rush towards it, blood hammering in your ears. Reaching up, you grasp at a beam and haul yourself upwards, determination pushing you forward. Struggling, you climb a flight or so further as the final beam beneath your foot strips away, clattering to the ground now dangerously far away. The heat becomes unbearable as you wriggle your way onto the exposed 3rd floor, spotting movement through the billowing smoke.

“Ray” you croak, shuffling towards him. Again, the building clatters, the floor above you cracking and plummeting down towards you. “Ray!” you call louder, squeezing your eyes shut before the concrete smashes into your leg; causing you to let out a scream. Blinding pain shoots through you, your foot contorting as you hear your bones snap. Shrieking, you force yourself to look at your mangled leg buried beneath the rubble, clutching it as you writhe in agony. Taking deep, sporadic breaths, you throw your gaze quickly to Ray, able to see his face exposed and staring at you in fear. You can see his mouth moving, but the ringing in your ears drowns out all noise with every flip of your stomach. Your mind begins to race as you refocus on your leg and the excruciating pain that has you sweating and convulsing uncontrollably. With all your strength, you begin to lift, the concrete cutting into your fingers as you force the mass to move. After enough leverage, you try to balance the weight with one hand, using your other to snatch your leg awkwardly out from underneath. Another scream escapes your lips in a gurgle of bubbles, forcing your body forward to wrap around the wound that is now steady loosing blood, glugging fast and thick onto the floor. Groaning through a spasm of pain, you use your knife to help rip a strip of fabric from your shirt, ignoring the jagged bones jutting out that beg for attention. Taking a deep breath you begin to bind the fabric around the wound, wincing and panting as your exposed flesh touches the soft material; dust and ash shuddering from above you to flutter across your skin. Shielding your head from the trickles of debris you twist onto your front, hauling your useless leg behind you as you shuffle closer to Ray with his hand outstretched.

“Y/N?” You hear him choke out your name feebly through your ringing daze, and once you are close enough you tug on his hand; hearing him curse. “We can’t get out” he tells you desperately, locking eyes with you, their depths frantic and fearful. With a cold sweat setting in and making it harder to breathe, you look around and notice a window glistening with heat. “There” you point, but Ray shakes his head in rejection.  
"Too far down” he lets out a gut-wrenching cough, “I’ve already thought about it”. Faintly you can here sirens in the distance; your mind quickly jumping to the safety of the rest of your crew. “Think about it again” you command while working your way over to the sill, feeling it burn your forearms as you lean against it to look out and on to the street. Staring down at the distant ground you start to shake involuntarily from exertion. Now turning back to the room, you watch the flames viciously creep towards you; time is running out. “Can you move Ray?” you ask, motioning to a large, plush arm chair with a high back adorned with ash, mostly intact. He struggles, wobbling to his feet and lurching towards it, collapsing onto the seat with the floorboards letting out a moan underfoot. “You’re right” he jokes weakly, “I feel much better”.   
“Bring it over,” you instruct, struggling to keep a grip on consciousness as the pain in your leg works its way up your body, setting in your bones. He does as you say, pushing the chair towards you and the window, though your vision blurs as you fade in and out. You motion weakly to his pants, “off”.   
“Now’s not the time” he smiles, but as you roll your eyes you see he begins to strip off his jeans and offers them to you. In a swift motion you tear the denim with your weapon, creating a makeshift rope.

“Help me up?” you ask and he’s at your side in an instant. Ignoring the pain as best you can, Ray wraps an arm around you, lifting you up. You snatch at the armchair, shuffling it closer to you before Ray helps you to push it up against the window. With a grunt, He smashes the glass with his elbow, blood dripping from the fragments lodging into his skin. Now working together, you manoeuvre the chair to face the room, the back leaning slightly out the window and into the cold, refreshing air. “We’ve gotta sit” you gasp, keeling over and coughing violently. Ray nods, dragging you to the seat and placing you gently in it. You give him his jeans, and he squeezes in next to you, wrapping the fabric under the chair then around your bodies. You look at him as your head spins, holding your hand out for him to cling to it firmly. “We’re fucking dead” he says in an almost cheerful tone and you wheeze, placing your uninjured foot flat on the floor. He plants his feet too, and you both close your eyes. “On three” he says, “One-“ he pushes off with his feet and you feel your stomach churning and rushing into your throat; hurtling backwards and out of the window. Clenching your mouth shut, the wind rushes around you noisily as you plummet to the ground, landing with a painful crunch.

Your eyes are still shut, but you can hear Ray laughing incredulously. “We made it” he exclaims, but his words falter. Opening your eyes, you see the building you fell from, smoke rushing as the wall shakes and begins to tumble. “Don’t look!” you screech, instinctively curling into Ray’s waiting arms as searing pain crushes you, leaving you alone in the rubble, dust and ash.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking beneath the rubble, you frantically try to claw yourself out, Ray desperately working beside you. No abandoned by the rest of the Fake AH Crew, you must make it on your own to deal with both the emotional, and physical wounds left behind.

Your eyes sting and drift open, dust clinging to your lashes as you peer into the constricting darkness. You feel Ray’s body next to you, his breathing soft but consistent. For a moment you allow yourself to breath, your bruised body equally as surprised by your survival. As you start struggling, you realise that the angle at which you had landed shielded you from the broken concrete; and you breathe a sigh of relief before coughing. Ray stirs, groaning as his eyes flutter open. 

Every inch of your body aches immensely, the throbbing of your left leg continuing up to your knee, though going no further. Unable to comprehend the numbness, you look down to see your leg lifeless under a caking of dust and blood, paled, blackened and swollen. Your stomach lurches, the bile rising in the back of your throat as you thrust your head to your right, vomiting violently over the side of the armchair. Ray says nothing, his eyes trained on your leg with a look of horror plastered to his dusty face, head swimming. “Y/N...” he begins, but you can’t hear him over the sudden screams escaping your chapped, bruised lips. 

Quickly Ray wriggles his knife from his pocket, twisting his hands as so to saw at the denim encasing you both. As it begins to fray you begin to thrash, ripping free only to start clawing at the rubble above you. Breathing heavily and chest tight, you both work tirelessly as your screaming subsides; much to Ray’s unspoken relief. A rumble sees the mass around you shift, dust pouring down into the space, stealing your air supply. Chocking, desperate, you continue to drag your raw fingers across the stones until a cool breeze whistles through a small opening.

“You know,” you say, grunting as you pick at the hole, feeling your nails bend and snap. Ray leans closer to you, attempting to widen the space you’re focusing on. “I never thought it’d end like this”. The man next to you grimaces as his hand slips against the sharp stone, deeply slicing the lower section of tendons in his fingers.  
“Oh yeah?” he asks, his voice horse as he forces his uninjured hand through the hole, inhaling sharply as his wrist is pierced; “What did you have in mind?” He yanks his hand back through, gasping at the walls encasing you both shifts slightly, cradling his partially severed fingers to his chest through violent twitches. 

“I dunno” you shrug, lifting up your free foot and positioning it against the hole. “A blaze of glory, perhaps? Gun fire, hot babes” you grunt, kicking with all your might at the opening, causing more dust to pool around you. “and”, you huff lashing out again, the force aching against the bottom of your foot, “like, five stars”. Another kick and your heart leaps with hope. “Well” says Ray, shuffling in the seat to turn his back to you, bracing himself with another spasm of pain and sharp inhale. “It was a blaze” he jokes, and you can hear him attempt to smile through it all. You laugh, unable to stop yourself, before you thrust your foot once more and feel the walls topple onto you; leaving nothing but the star-spotted sky. 

Struggling, you pull your dead weight upwards, dragging yourself onto the grassy hill and into the cool air, greeting it gladly. Reaching back down, you offer Ray your hand and work towards lifting him out of the cage of concrete. Lying on your back out of exhaustion, you stare up at the sky in wonder, letting the tears roll silently down the sides of your face. Ray collapses besides you, his face streaked with tears and eyes bloodshot. Neither of you dare break your gaze from one another, instead you roll together, clutching each other tightly. You don’t know if you’re laughing or crying, but the pained wail erupting from you resonates in your chest as Ray shakes uncontrollably. “We’re alive” he manages, holding you tighter; “How the absolute  _fuck_  are we alive?”

Looking up you realise the building is no longer smouldering, the site quiet and untouched. The ash has settled, coating the ground like a dusting of snow, but you shake your head and force yourself to sit up. There are no cars or vehicles, no signs of life. “Ray...” you manage, the weight of the abandonment finally setting in. “They left us”

* * *

 

You stretch out your left leg, looking sorrowfully at what once was flesh and bone. Though your prosthetic served as a perfect replacement, you could still feel the ever-aching pain that your mind had unintentionally programmed to ghost through the cybernetic addition. Your toes were forever contorted, ankle deeply twisted and broken, despite being removed years ago. Flashes of the journey rush through your head, the days of inactivity having taken its toll on your bodies. Ray had dragged you to the best of his abilities, the soft grass caressing your skin as you pushed forward and towards the makeshift medical centre the crew had set up 3 years earlier. 

Consciousness had escaped you constantly, and the disorientation was only broken by fragments of immense pain. The crunching and tugging as your partner carved away your leg had etched itself permanently into your mind. It had taken a few weeks for the replacement to be fully integrated, fused to you as a longstanding reminder. Ray had tried his best, fashioning you the cybernetic piece to grant you full mobility in addition to inhuman speed, strength and agility. You wouldn’t be caught in the path of death again, Ray’s efforts guaranteed it.

You trace your fingers across the intricate designs you had etched into the plates over the past few years, silver against the jet black exterior plates, lingering over one of the many small windows that open to the luminescent wires and mechanisms beneath. You feel Ray move beside you, and he offers a sweet smile from his position on the couch, still lying on his front. “You got the better deal” he jokes, holding up his hand to display his  similar cyber finger attachments, flexing them as the tips blips gently with a soft purple light. 

More flashes from your haunted mind, the sound of bones being forcibly cut and thumping into your lap; forcing you to relive the removal of his mangled and unsalvageable fingers. The flinching of his face with each slice was perfectly in sync with the rolling of your stomach. You remember gingerly collecting his fingers, cradling them gently in your hand before placing them safely on the sterile table. Ray’s eyes hadn’t open, his face a pained grimace as you returned, beginning to join his remaining flesh with the cyber fingers you had constructed for him.

“You serious?” you smile, shaking the memories and moving to stand above him. “You’re trigger finger is literally programmable”. His smile widens and he admires your handy work, fondly remembering his excitement once you had informed him that they were not only incredibly durable and strong, but also compatible with most technology. “I thought I was a good sniper before” he jokes, “but this is the tits”. You chuckle, ruffling his hair and stretching.  
“And you have a mean punch” you compliment, wandering around the back of the couch towards the large window stretching the span of the wall. Peering down to the busy street, you’re vaguely aware of your body shaking, struggling with the memories. The sound of Ray coming up behind you is drowned out by your thoughts until he places a hand on your shoulder, giving it a quick and comforting squeeze.

“It’s got to be them” you say to him tentatively, and he lets out a sigh.   
“Yeah” he finally agrees, “It has their marks all over it”. You let out a sharp laugh, your shoulders trembling nervously;   
“by marks, I hope you mean  _‘big, fuck off explosions’_ ”. Ray lowers himself to the ground, inching closer to the window to press his forehead against the cool glass,   
“Don’t forget about the  _‘we’ll ruin everything’_  element” he adds, titling his head to show you the bitter smile flashing across his lips. Following his lead, you sink down next to Ray, distractedly watching a man with purple hair run through the streets exuberantly. Your lips turn up slightly, momentarily amused. “We didn’t do things by halves” you admit, and Ray barks out a laugh. “Hell no,” he mocks, “The bigger the better”. 

Silence settles over you both as you remain lost in thought. Their faces swim before you, Geoff’s pleading eyes, Michael’s anger as he struggled with an unconscious and bleeding Gavin; why had back up taken so long? You wonder whether the second team had been attacked during the negotiations, but thinking of Jack and Ryan’s fate hurts far too much. Your eyes sting a little, but you ignore the prickling sensation, searching for the man with purple hair again to keep your mind occupied. You would give anything to see them again, but know that your relationship with them would never be the same.

You don’t look at Ray, keeping your eyes averted to the street, spotting the flash of purple bouncing by the ice cream stand eagerly. You watch as he excitedly accepts 2 chocolate cones, rushing to another, taller man with a pony tail, offering it to him before they disappear into the crowd. “Do you ever wonder what would have happened if they’d stayed?” you ask quietly, feeling him tense. Stealing a glance at his reflection, you see the hurt in his eyes mirroring the pain in your heart.   
“All the time” he whispers, “But they didn’t”; you to turn to him.

“They bailed as soon as the cops turned up”, his bitterness laps at your skin and you knit your eyebrows together.  
“Ray-“ you start, but he cuts you off  
“It was in all of the reports, Y/N,” his eyes meet yours before he pulls you closer and into a one armed hug, clattering your cheek against his shoulder as he rests his chin on the top of your head. “It was nearly 3 days...” he mutters into your hair, his voice cracking faintly as he remembers.   
“Do you regret not going to find them?” you ask in a small voice, shuddering. At this, Ray is silent.   
“No,” he says carefully, “the people who love you don’t leave you for dead”. You want to interject, want to defend them and their actions; but you can’t bring yourself to protect them. The pain in your leg sears for a moment, flaring from the memory, before settling into a numb dormancy. 

“I don’t know what I had expected”, slowly you feel him begin to settle again as his grip loosens, “maybe a funeral, that would have been nice”. His words sting, his sadness and loss modeled after your own. “We got out, together” he continues, “without them.” He offers you a small smile, rocking you playfully for a moment, “We don’t need them, we’ve got each other. I’ve got your back” 

  
“Just like I’ve got yours”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Jeremy, a man so grateful that you saved his life that he’s taken it upon himself to follow you up a hill, only to sit awkwardly far away.

Wandering through the dim, decaying back streets of Los Santos gives you a chance to breathe and run off the unresting ache in your leg. Taking in a sharp inhale of air, you bring with it the stale cigarette smoke that encases the city’s night life. The back ways were always quieter, doused in the faint glow of the neon signs adorning the strip clubs and dusting your skin; the homeless littering the small nooks between stores. 

You fall back into the routine you’d created for yourself since being stranded, seeking refuge on the streets after being ripped violently from sleep by intense fear and panic. The nightmares are a staple in your life, almost like a nightly obligation; an appointment you just couldn’t miss. Each night was the same as you silently sneaking out of the apartment - careful to refrain from stirring a slumbering Ray that slouched across the couch with the TV flickering – and moving onto the streets with a heavy sigh of relief.

The night is gentle, warm and incredibly comfortable for summer; despite the humidity that hangs in your hair. Rather than complaining, the opportunity to wear shorts without drawing attention to your cybernetic leg is enticing, and you’re grateful to avoid the looks of distaste and pity that surround its public appearances. Looping your fingers through the gun holsters fastened to your upper thighs, you let your body move forward, thanking the soft, warm air as it tickles across your bare shoulders. 

Titling your head back you take in the sky, cloudless and clean, too pure for the smog of the city to touch and taint. Tranquillity had become difficult to come by, and you could only hope those you cared about were experiencing the same level of peace that had taken over your being. You stray towards the grassy hills instinctively, each step you take putting you further away from the streets and closer to absolute serenity. 

You barely notice the sound of labored breathing and the accompanying footsteps coming up behind you, too lost in the moment to attune yourself to sounds so common in Los Santos. The sound of a scuffle ringing out, however, had you spinning to face the way you had come, a gun raised steadily in your hand. A man barrels past you without hesitation, no more than a flash of purple as he moves to scamper around a sharp corner. You hear him slip against the street before watching as his head pokes around the wall, looking at you with shock. 

“Well?” he demands as you continue to stare at him, lowering your gun slightly. He lets out a small squeak as two other men round the corner, ambling forward while dragging their softball bats across the floor with the shrill screeching of angled metal. “Where are you, rat?!” one demands furiously, and you take cover in the shadows, slipping your gun back into its holster to allow for immediate movement when required.

The larger of the two tilts his head back, rolling it across his shoulders as a cascade of cracks and pops fill the space, setting your teeth on edge. Creeping backwards, you make for the other man, attempting to avoid detection; then your foot nudges a glass bottle noisily. Silence rushes through the alleyway as the men lock eyes with their target across the expanse scattered with filth, sneers twisting their features into vicious masks. 

“The fuck?!” demands the man behind you, clearly irritated.  
“There you are” snarl’s the man on the right, picking up his bat and spinning it in his hand threateningly. As they draw closer they are able to notice you huddled in the shadows, seemingly unarmed, with the smaller of the two turning his attention to you with a leer. “You brought us a pet!” he spits in delight, approaching you “Oh, you shouldn’t have”. 

Then he’s rushing at you with his fist pulled back and ready to strike, incredibly quick on his feet.  As he begins to snap it forward and make contact you grasp at it, using his momentum to lift and twist yourself behind him in a smooth motion; feet planting on his back forcefully before you jump backwards, his fist cracking nastily against the brick wall. With a howl he clutches his twitching hand to his chest, seething; “no, you really shouldn’t have.”  
“Run!” the man with purple hair implores desperately, zipping away as you follow him without hesitation.

Tracing his movements, you catch up quickly as he throws you a pleasant, if not a little erratic, smile. “What did you do?” you ask, astonished at the level of hostility the man had incurred; Los Santos never failed to surprise you. “Business-“ he pants, turning a sharp corner as the two figures come after you, their heavy footsteps ringing out to mingle with the psychological fear induced by their weapons making contact with the walls. “-Gone wrong” he finishes; skidding to a stop when he realises he’s led you both into a dead end. 

Looking around frantically, he searches for an escape; your hunters drawing closer. “What kinda business?” you question, pushing back your hair and wandering around the space. He makes a small grunt as he jumps against a wall, looking for purchase; failing as his chest smacks the brick uselessly. “Well, I wouldn’t say that I fucked up on a simple data-mining operation”, he jumps again, scampering up the wall a portion before crashing back to the ground, landing at an angle and collapsing as the men’s voices creep eerily after you. 

“You fucked up data-mining?” you ask incredulously, “how do you even manage that?”  
“I mean...” he squeaks defensively, pulling himself back up to standing, “I’m not exactly subtle.” He shrugs, before the two figures round the corner and block the exit, causing him to panic. “So” you say, turning your back to the men to search his concerned face, “now would be a good time to know who the bad guy is”.   
“It’s sort of like a spectrum of evil and-“ you raise your eyebrows, urging him to hurry, the sound of the men’s low laughs raising the hairs on the back of your neck. Pursing his lips and knitting his eyebrows together, he points behind you dramatically; “They’re worse!”

“Now now,” you hear one of the grunts say in a taunting tone, “you’re not exactly a saint yourself”. The purple haired man contorts his face in dissatisfaction by pressing his lips together into a thin line, shaking his head in an attempt to convince you with wide eyes. Moving to face the two men, you regard them closely. The large man speaks now, his voice gruff and leering “his taste in women is outstanding, though”, he spares a look to his friend, face still twisted in pain; “if not a little feisty”.

“Why don’t you make it easy for yourself” the broken man pipes in, “and we might even share the lady”. They let out low whistles and your skin crawls before offering a delightful smile; “no thanks!’ Without much thought you whip your gun from its holster and fire two shots within seconds, satisfied as they lodge into their bodies with a muted, wet sound. They drop quickly, clutching their chests. 

Returning your attention to the remaining man, you see him watching you intently, his mouth slightly open and eyes wide. Walking backwards towards the injured men writhing on the floor without breaking eye contact, you hear the string of cusses escaping their lips, derogatory terms spat viciously into the filthy ground. “I’ve got my mother’s temper”, one more shot exits your weapon, splitting through both men’s heads; causing them to fall heavily into a pool of their own blood.

The man’s laughter accompanies the faint sounds of the city as it takes over the alley again, and you smile whilst swiftly placing your gun back into its holster. “I like you” he states, chuckling and emerging from the shadows he had worked his way into; his bright orange muscle tee clashing noisily with his purple shorts. “Oooh” you say, kneeling down to examine the closest man, searching his pockets to locate his wallet and valuables, slipping them away for a potential profit, “I’d strongly advise against that”. Again, another laugh as you sense him behind you before he bends down; rummaging through the other man’s belongings. 

Removing a small file from the dead man’s corpse his face splits into a beam. Sitting on your haunches, you watch him, fascinated, as he presses a finger to his earpiece to talk excitedly. “Yeah man, I’ve got it” he says, “Not gonna bring it in tonight though, don’t wanna risk someone following me back to base.” Silence for a moment as he listens, his gaze briefly settling on you before you stand quickly. “Yeah, I didn’t have any trouble; everything went according to plan” he lies, voice hitting a higher octave as you hold a hand up in a polite goodbye, starting to move away. “Sure - clocking off now; I’ll see you in the morning” his final sentence is rushed and grows faint as you continue on your routine path towards the promising grassy hills. Back on track, you let yourself return inwards while stretching an arm over your head to hear your shoulder pop in relief.

“Hey, wait up!” the man calls from behind you as your foot finally touches the lush incline; the odd car forcing the wind to swell around you. Reacting slightly, you throw a glance over your shoulder to see him running up to you, waving an arm for you to stop. You look back up to the hill before letting out a sigh, grimacing. “You know” you tell him, “I’m not really looking for company”. He pulls up beside you, eyes level with your own and a serious expression plastered to his face. “That’s alright” he replies simply, “Neither am I”. He is quiet for a second before his face splits into a grin, his head bobbing from side to side, amused by his own joke. 

You feel your lips twitch, an eyebrow desperately wanting to raise itself; but he’s already moving and bounding up the hill, the grass swaying around his knees. He doesn’t look back at you; instead yelling “race ya!” confidently. With slight annoyance, you consider returning to the apartment, but the hollow aching of your leg encourages you forward. “You won’t win” you call to him, and he stops, facing you. 

“So it won’t matter that I’ve got a head start, then” he mocks, watching your body fold in on itself before you explode forward, legs carrying you so quickly that the grass becomes a blur and you reach him in an instant; pushing him down as you pass. You allow the exhilaration to take over, forcing your body to keep going despite the man’s struggles to regain his balance on the slope. You reach the top of the first bank effortlessly, drawing to a stop so you can admire the night sky and city lights.

Your chest heaves as you try to lower your heart rate, unable to tear your eyes from the lights rushing and dancing below you. Lowering yourself to the ground, you cross your legs, stretching out your prosthetic until it strains; lessening the tension. It takes a few minutes for the man to catch up to you, long enough for you to have become absorbed in the beauty of the sky; relaxed by the gentle swaying of the foliage brushing against your skin. 

Finally, he joins you, stifling his gasping. You glance upwards at him, just catching him bent over with his hands resting on his knees, panting desperately; before he straightens up suddenly once he catches you watching. “Now that’s just cheating” he jokes fondly, motioning down to your outstretched leg with a sheepish grin, his eyes genuine and soft as they meet your own. You chuckle despite yourself, leaning back and resting on your hands as he sits on the hill, putting some distance between you. He fidgets anxiously, unable to sit still as you throw glances at him in between gazing up at the stars.

“I know you don’t want company” the man says loudly, not looking in your direction to see your lips twitch into a smile “and I’m definitely not talking to you.” He pauses, and you watch him drop his head into his hands in seeming embarrassment before letting out an awkward noise “but if I was, I’d thank you for saving my ass back there”. Rolling your eyes you stand and stretch your leg again, moving over to him and sitting on his right. 

He looks at you timidly, “oh sorry, I’m not looking for company” he chuckles as you turn your face to the distant city lights. “Well” you start, pulling your knees up and wrapping your arms around them, “too fucking bad”. Your smirk seems to put him at ease and you notice that he relaxes, the sharpness in his shoulders smoothing. “Jeremy” he offers you a large hand and kind smile, of which you return through extending your own delicate fingers towards him, firmly grasping his hand and shaking; “Y/N”.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy’s late night crime tour soon dissolves into a night brimming with Chinese food, banter and a night in with Ray.

“Do you ever wonder why we’re here?”   
“Don’t start that shit” you grumble at Jeremy, resting your cheek on your shoulder to toss him a half-hearted glare; “or I’m moving back to the other side of the hill”. At your words he looks genuinely upset, and you bump into him playfully as an apology. “It was more of a way for me to ask why you’re here” he says, watching you intently as you shrug. “I have trouble sleeping” you reply simply, but he doesn’t appear satisfied. Shuffling closer to you, he rests his chin in his hands, waiting.   
“That sounds like a story” he prompts, and you can’t help but smile as you warm to him.

You shift beneath his gaze before crossing your legs and angling your body to face him. “My leg” you admit, averting your eyes from his once you see his face soften; “It hurts more at night”. A breeze drifts lazily across you, ruffling your hair as you wait in silence, expecting the prying questions that always come.  
“Do you think someone’s dick could be cybernetic?” you can’t hold in the laughter that takes hold of you, your ribs beginning to ache as you both giggle uncontrollably.

You find yourself oddly at ease with him, no longer having to be the strong persona you had created for yourself to fit the expectations surrounding your reputation. You didn’t feel the need to act threateningly or defensive, content in sitting atop a grassy hill with a friendly stranger. You can sense his enjoyment too, noticing the smoothness of his body and gentle light flickering in his eyes. Briefly, you wonder about his work, but can’t bring yourself to give it more than a moment of your time. Right now it didn’t matter who he worked for, only that he was still lounging with you and sharing the stars.

 “So, are you new to the area?” his queries, his face friendly and inviting when you return your gaze to his.

“You could say that” you joke as he claps at your words, jumping up quickly in a smooth, bounding motion. You peer up at him, taken aback.

“Sounds like you need a guide to the Los Santos night life!” he exclaims, offering you a hand.

Hesitating, you take it slowly, allowing him to pull you up before clapping you on the back lightly. He holds out his arm as you begin to decline his offer, but something stops you. The opportunity to distract your mind from the plaguing memories of the crew and the worry over a severely stressed Ray was enticing; but no more so than the man offering the solitude.

 

* * *

 

 

“This is my favourite tree” he points to a scrawny branch struggling between the cracked concrete, giving it a pat as you pass, “keep being you, buddy.” You can’t hide your utter amusement with Jeremy, confused as to how someone could come across as so positive. You walk the streets together arm in arm as he chats away happily, his free hand waving dramatically as he tells his stories.

“And this!” he pulls you quickly to the front of the large stone building, looking at it fondly “is the first bank I ever robbed”. You laugh musically at this, surprised that his first bank job was also your own. “Let’s just say that I was $100 richer” he puffs out his chest in pride, and you raise an eyebrow at him.   
“Only $100?”   
“It didn’t go as planned” he admits, but this doesn’t seem to faze him in the slightest as he wanders up the steps to stare at the structure with a pleasant sigh.

Climbing, you stand beside him, briefly uncomfortable at the sight of your leg in the glass, the gentle pulse of blue lights catching your attention. Shuffling, you move to turn your body away and hide it, but instead Jeremy pulls you towards him in a side hug, motioning in a sweeping action above his head. “It’s a prime location, brimming with opportunities”. He stops, eyes glancing down to watch as the lights dance across the glass, a look of awe on his face.

“Does it always do that?” he asks, the excitement in his voice catching you off guard. Stammering, you reply that yes, your leg would flash every so often when it was running low. “Wait, its battery operated?!” he asks incredulous, kneeling down to look at it closer, unaware of your confusion.   
“No,” you say as he stands quickly after realising that he may be  overstepping a boundary “It... err... it needs to be plugged in to a power source”   
“like, a generator?”   
“like” you wring your hands, scrunching up your face “a wall socket.” At this he laughs, the smile on his face stretching into a grin. “That’s so cool”

“Do you have enough juice left to keep going on my tour?” he asks considerately, and you have to force yourself not to start crying at his sincerity and non-judgemental nature. “Sure” you say, nudging him back down the steps and towards his favourite tree “but I’m not quite sure what we’re touring anymore” you joke, you leg aching as you continue to move.

He gives you an exaggerated shrug, linking your arms together again “my criminal history, of course. I’ve been around.” 

“Is that something you really should be admitting to me?” 

“hey” he jerks his arms away and holds up his hands in defence “I’m not the one that shot a guy tonight”

“two guys” you correct with a smile, looping your arm back through his; “but I do see your point”. You continue along the sidewalk, all the anxiety of the last few days melting away, as if the man beside you was absorbing your troubles.

“Where next on the tour?” you ask, bumping your hip into his as you walk. He’s flustered, thinking.   
“Well, there’s this building just outside of town” he starts, looking up to the sky to watch the clouds crawl across the wisps of pink donated by the early hours of the morning. “Oh?” you prompt, “and what makes this building so cool?”   
“I’m glad you asked!” he replies jovially, putting on what you assume to be his best game show host impression; “it’s nestled in the grassy hills on the outskirts of Los Santos”. His eyes are gleaming now, his voice eager, “broken by years of mistreatment and one of the greatest fires this city has ever seen”, you feel your heart begin to race, you skin quickly becoming clammy; “it was once home to the infamous battle that saw the death of Cheshire and BrownMan of the Fake AH Crew, but now provides as much peace as it does ash!”

You stop, head spinning and the pain in your leg forcing you to the ground; gasping for breath as the street suddenly impacts with your knees. Jeremy is there in front of you in an instant, crouching and concerned. “Hey,” he says gently, touching you on the shoulder “you okay?”   
“Yeah” you manage, taking his hand and wobbling to your feet “Sorry, sometimes my leg just does...err... stuff...” you finish lamely. He doesn’t question you, instead peering at your prosthetic and pointing a finger; “no funny business” he threatens, and your heart rate slowly returns to normal.

A soft _ping_ causes your ears to prick, and you reach into your back pocket to pull out your phone, throwing Jeremy an apologetic smile as you turn away from him. Staring down at the device you notice Jeremy trying to hide the fact that he is curiously staring over your shoulder, subconsciously slumping when he sees the name on your screen. “What is it?” he asks nonchalantly as you finish reading, a smile flitting across your lips. “My partner’s Chinese order” you giggle, shooting back a reply and slipping the phone back into your pocket.

“Partner...” Jeremy seemingly rolls the title around in his head for a moment, then steps in front of you to grasp at the tops of your arms, his eyes wide and confused. “What does it _mean_?” he draws out the final word dramatically, shaking you gently. You hold your hands up innocently, the heat of his chest radiating against your palms in the tight space you have to move. “Partner in _crime_ ” you elaborate, and he immediately drops his grip, shuffling his feet awkwardly.

“Oh” is the only noise that escapes him, high pitched and short as you wait expectantly, swatting at him as he tries to smooth your hair back from the mess he’s made. You’re silent, watching him grow redder and more frustrated by the moment. “Bro” you keep your face blank “you shouldn’t grab strangers”. He quickly digs his fists into his pockets, kicking at nothing. “I know” he huffs, turning his back to you with a quick spin on his heels. You allow the smile to work its way on to your face as you watch his back. “Strangers with guns” you persist, amused as his shoulders hunch further, his head dipping;   
“I know!”

You lower your voice seriously, “I shot a guy” you remind him, biting back a laugh as he throws his arms above his head;   
“2 guys!” He turns to you and you can see the smile he is trying to suppress.   
Taking a step towards him, you lean closer “it was nearly 3” you whisper as he dramatically clutches his chest and stumbles back with a cry.   
“Hot” he says, standing normally again, beaming in admiration. You run your fingers through your hair, considering him before you reply;

“So, you want Chinese food or what?”

 

* * *

 

 

“Who’s this asshole?” Ray asks as you enter the apartment, xbox controller firmly in his hands. You roll your eyes, tossing your keys at him, chuckling as he dives off the couch to catch them before they hit the ground. Standing, he stretches out with a slight groan, and you wonder if the bags under his eyes will ever disappear. “He’s just some loser I found on the street” you tell Ray as Jeremy follows you to the kitchen, arms filled with takeout bags.   
“Hey!” he argues, but Ray smiles at him, relieving him of the bags and placing them on the large white counter top.

“Join the club” he jokes, snatching some cutlery from the draw and passing them out.   
“Really?” Jeremy sounds genuinely interested as he rips the lid of the lemon chicken, shovelling it onto a plate.  
“No” Ray laughs, spooning out portions of fried rice. Jeremy looks like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, rather settling for a handful of prawn crackers.

“This is Ray” you say, motioning to your partner, who gives a lacklustre wave and ‘hey’ between a large mouthful of sweet and sour pork. “Jeremy ran into me whilst I was out for my walk” you tell him, filling your own plate and grabbing a beer from the fridge, offering one to the shorter man; who accepts gladly.  
“What did we say about adopting strays?” Ray jokes, sitting heavily in one of the stools surrounding the island.   
“That they have to be cute” you reply, following his lead with a smile, Jeremy perching beside you.

“Exactly, so take him back”, you snort in the middle of your sip of beer, hiding your face as you cough.   
“Oi!” Jeremy leans across the counter, jabbing his fork in Ray’s direction, “I’ll have you know I’m fucking adorable” he says proudly before he slips off his seat and bumps against the counter. You smile, thankful that you’d decided to give him a chance for the night, plugging your leg into the wall socket as Ray laughs; “alright, but he better be toilet trained.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your friendship with Jeremy had been growing ever since your chance encounter on the streets of Los Santos. Now with more Monster trucks, flirting and Ray’s off brand banter; you mind yourself in a situation you’d never have expected. It can’t hurt… can it?

It had been weeks since you had seen each other, but you still remember the night as eventful, to say the least. Despite the ache in your bones and the killer fatigue that you were supporting every night since, you couldn’t help but think back to it fondly. After Chinese food the night had dissolved into Mario Kart and beers, Jeremy playing as exuberantly as you’d expected; and then more so. Warming your heart was the way Ray began to relax, reverting back into a man you hadn’t seen in a very long time. His high pitched yelps, his slurry of jokes, all seemed happier with company; perhaps because the man beside him knew nothing of his life. It almost hurt to walk Jeremy into the elevator and onto the street, but an awkward hug and exchanging of phone numbers later, you felt brighter than the morning itself.

Rolling over in your bed, the light grazes your sheets and lingers on your closed eyelids, a reminder that the day had never truly ended; only tumbling into the next. Letting out a sigh, you pull yourself up and sit cross-legged in bed, running fingers through your tangled hair while staring out the window, taking in the sky. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt so relax in the morning, relieved that the nightmares hadn’t returned for an encore after the night prior. With a smile you lean back against your headboard, watching the clouds float lazily past the expansive window. You don’t want to be in Los Santos, but last night made it bearable.

Sitting nestled in your airy white sheets you let your mind wander, listening to the birds singing cheerfully as they flit past you window, the squeak of your door breaking the tranquility you’d found yourself in. Ray shuffles in, his face exhausted and eyes set deep in bruise-like bags; in one hand he clutches a spoon and the other holds a bowl of cereal. “Yo”, he mumbles, moving to sit in the white, plush bucket chair in the corner of your room, kicking the pastel yellow cushions to the floor. You smile at him, certain you look just as bad, if not worse, than he does. “Wanna go out for breakfast?” he continues around bites of his cereal and looking at you sleepily.

Raising an eyebrow you motion to his bowl and he shrugs. “What’s your point?” he questions, narrowing his eyes and deliberately taking another large mouthful. Laughing delicately you manoeuvre to the edge of your bed, slipping your feet into the soft cream carpet with a yawn. “Irrelevant” you conclude, voice thick with drowsiness. Lifting your arms above your head your phone pings at you from the bedside table. Confused, you pick it up and peer at the screen, not used to receiving messages from your nonexistent friends. Immediately your mood boosts as you see Jeremy’s name on the screen, opening the message with a smile.

_Check this:_  
_Look out the window._

“Someone dead?” Ray asks, finishing off his cereal and placing the bowl on your reading table, nearly tipping over your cactus.  
“Nah” you say, standing and moving to the window, your t shirt brushing the tops of your bare legs. You toss the phone to Ray, who fumbles but manages to catch it; quickly reading the message. “Weird” he throws it onto the bed, walking to stand beside you, “What do you think he’s talking about-“ before he can finish you feel the ground shake; a large and colourful explosion erupting across the street.

As sirens and car alarms fill the empty space you can’t help but let your mouth hang open, taking in the orange and purple smoke now streaking across the sky. “Is that...” Ray points, suddenly awake as a distant, excited yell reaches your ears. “The fuck have we gotten ourselves into?” you joke, turning to collect a pair of faded jeans off the end of your bed. “Hey” Ray raises his hands, backing away “let the record show that this was all you.”

Scooping your phone up again you quickly shoot Jeremy a reply before readying yourself for social interaction; breakfast having quickly becoming a routine for Ray and yourself ever since Jeremy had helped ease his tensions about walking the Los Santos streets.

_Nice one_

 

* * *

 

 

“I bring you to a nice restaurant for breakfast” you tell him, leaning across to table with your arms folded; “and you order Red bull?” He looks at you, hurt as he brings the can to his lips to take a noisy sip. “Now you’re just being judgmental” he glares, accepting his large plate of scrambled eggs and warm bread that fails to pass itself off as toast. “Judgmental?” you scoff, allowing the waitress to place your own breakfast in front of you, offering a refill on your coffee. Thanking her, she rushes away, leaving you to stare at Ray. “It’s fancy” you continue, motioning to the candle on your table, and then the string lights that lace themselves through the trees.

“Yeah”, he looks at you with wide eyes, “so they’d only have the fanciest Red bull.” You roll your eyes at him, nibbling on your French toast.   
“I can’t take you anywhere” you retort, throwing a balled up napkin in his direction. “Hey!” swats it, knocking over his can as the sickly liquid pools around his plate, soaking into his shirt. “This is why we can’t have nice things, Ray!” you joke, turning your face to the sun as you laugh, letting the warmth tint your cheeks.  
“We have plenty of nice things” he huffs, stepping away from the table as your waitress comes to your aide, towel in hand.

Opening up his arms, he stands with the vain hope of having the sun dry his clothing; watching as the woman busies herself with mopping up the area. Thanking her, yet again, you return your attention to the morning peace, utterly at ease. The early city rush had dwindled to a steady trickle, the occasional tourist posing in front of the large building across from you; a momentary distraction from the smoothness of the city. With a smile, your eyes dart past Jeremy’s favourite tree, unable to verbally admit that it had everything to do with the restaurant selection. A few weeks had passed since your last face-to-face interaction, and you were acutely aware of the fondness you were harbouring for him; despite communication only resulting from the electronic pings of your phones.

Moving your gaze back to your friend, you see his eyebrows knitting together, squinting into the sky “Can I get another Red bull?” he asks dejectedly once the woman had finished, but you touch the waitresses arm and provide a delicate smile “He’ll have an Iced Chocolate, thanks.” She nods and begins to tidy up the rest of the table before moving away, only for Ray to yell “no cream!” after her.

“You know” he says, returning to his now dry seat, “Its kinda nice being able to chill out.” You agree with him around a mouth full of berries, offering that Los Santos being quiet was always a concern. As if on cue, a group of cars race past your table far too fast, and you look up just in time to see a large, orange and purple monster truck roaring after them; only for it to screech to a stop. Watching with a mixture of amusement and curiosity, the truck reverses back to where you are sat, the window rolling down to allow loud music to pour from the gap. Then his face is there, Jeremy regarding you behind his sunglasses with a slight smirk dancing across his lips. “Sup?” he nods, attempting to suppress his grin as you stand up, closing the distance between the car and yourself.

He removes his sunglasses entirely to wink at Ray, who finger guns back. Leaning up against the car you are struck by its sheer size, Jeremy half wriggling out the window to star down at you, his shoulders blocking out the sunlight. “How are you doing, man?” you ask with a smirk, immensely cooler than his own. “Seriously man, c’mon!” a male voice demands from inside the vehicle, muffled by the sounds roaring from the truck. Jeremy jumps slightly, scampering back inside the window for a moment before looking down at you again. “So, err”, you watch him, shifting your weight and crossing your arms “do you, errm, like; wanna go on a date with me or something maybe, only if you want to, and err... yeah?”

“A date?” you ask, regarding the pink tones now rising in his cheeks, thoughtful.   
“Yeah,” he says, trying to subdue to impatience of the man hidden inside his truck, “I’ll pay for everything I don’t steal, unless you steal it – I don’t judge cus i’m all for women stealing on the date, you know? And there’s a ferry that we were gonna rob tomorrow, so we could scope it out by eating all their food and enjoying their entertainment.” You’re smiling now, his cheeks now a deep, nervous pink as he continues to stammer; “it’ll be a  _‘thanks for saving my butt two and a half weeks ago’_ date”.

Taking a step back, you launch yourself at the truck, scampering up the side to cling to the open window, feet planted firmly against the door. “Or it could be an ‘ _actual date’_ , date” you say, swiping his large, white cowboy hat as he squirms. Letting yourself drop again, you place it on your head, grinning “compensation” you tell him, “pick me up at 8.” Beaming, he pulls himself back into the car, peeling away; “wear something fancy!”

Sitting back down at your table, Ray shoots you a proud smile; taking the hat from you and placing it on his own head. “Am I cool yet?” You laugh at him, digging a fork into your now cool breakfast. “Oh, so far from it.”   
“You are a mean person” he says, letting your waitress remove his plate and replace it with a tall, dramatically dressed iced chocolate; her face expressionless. “Yeah” you sigh, pushing your plate away and smiling into the sun; “but you love me”. He scoffs, spooning the ice cream out of the glass “you don’t give me much choice here”.

 

* * *

 

 

“Well?” you demand of Ray, standing in front of the TV and holding out your arms. He looks at you, confused. “The [dress](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/52/7b/fc/527bfcb1336a42bb7a580fa5e95d017b.jpg)” you groan, “what do you think of the dress?”   
“It’s very... red?” he says, before shooting you a smile; “you look great”. With a sigh you begin to pull on your heels, hopping from one side to the other.  
“It doesn’t look weird with my leg?” you ask, self conscious.  
He notices your unease, standing and placing his hands on the tops of your arms, “no one will look at your leg” he tells you, “I didn’t.” You roll your eyes, his words slowly settling your discomfort. “But you’re oblivious” you reply, pulling away and reaching for your gun, locking it into the hidden holster beneath the fabric.  
“All men are oblivious” laughs Ray, watching you strap a large knife to the outside of your thigh.

Just then the door knocks, and as you rush to open it Jeremy greets you with smile, anxiously tugging on the sleeve of his shirt. You can’t help but stare at him; his pastel orange dress shirt is muted, neatly tucked into his pants, suspenders creating flattering lines to angle his body. With his strikingly purple hair and glistening eyes, you can’t help but compare him to the man you’d met in the alley all those weeks ago. Looking at you, you notice his eyes widen, taking in your dress before you pull him into a sweeping hug. “See?” says Ray, referring to the lack of attention being shown to your leg.

“You look beau- err... nice” he nods at his awkwardness, pleased with himself; “very nice.” Raising an eyebrow, you push him gently against the shoulder and mutter  
“you look better than average, too”; before slipping out of the door, arm in arm, as Ray yells about being back by midnight.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth comes out, your past rising up to drag you back down with it.

You look up at the orange and purple atrocity with your mouth slightly open, knowing that it was all too good to be true; Jeremy had to be rowdy somehow, and his monster truck seemed to be his favourite way to do it. “Need some help?” he offers, motioning up to the door that towered above you. Not to be underestimated you throw him a confident smile, slipping off your heels and pouncing upwards; hanging onto the door handle before swinging inside. “You coming?” you yell back to him, his eyes brimming with admiration. His entrance is far from graceful, but after a small amount of flailing, he sits beside you in the driver’s side.

“Safety first!” he declares, strapping himself in before starting the engine, smiling manically as it roars to life.   
“How the fuck do you even fit this in a garage?” you ask, watching the city lights begin to whisk past you, each bump hurling you upwards in your seat, causing you both to laugh. “I mostly leave it at the warehouse” he replies, hands tight on the wheel as he swerves around a group of civilians.   
“No shit?” you raise an eyebrow, placing a hand on the roof to brace yourself, another bump hurling you forward, “you own a warehouse?”   
“My crew does” he darts out of the city to head towards the distant water, grass now tickling the underside of the car.   
“Again, no shit?” you let out a surprised laugh, though logical reasoning should have informed you far earlier that he wouldn’t be working on solo operations. He throws you a frantic grin, “yeah, we’re kinda fucking  _awesome_ ”.

“Crews are messy” you tell him, pulling a face, only to have him chuckle.   
“So you’ve been in a crew before, then?” he asks, sounding pleased that you had revealed some form of personal information to him. You bark out a laugh, the bitterness tinting your voice, “yeah, not something I’d recommend.”   
“Oh?” he raises an eyebrow, casting you an expecting glance, watching you sigh and sink into your seat. “Maybe you haven’t found the right crew” he says, offering a sincere smile, but you wave away his words; “All I need is Ray”.

“You guys are practically inseparable” he jokes, the city lights surrounding you becoming few and far between as you continue, trees now replacing lamp posts as you exit the bustling streets. “We’ve seen some shit” you reply, uncomfortable. Jeremy doesn’t seem to notice, continuing to press “So what” he taps his chin thoughtfully; “you guys are like a rag-tag duo?” At this you laugh, mind wandering to the early days of your partnership, the struggles of working with two members, rather than the eight you had been used to. “You may have heard of us” you tease, letting the bump in the road throw your body upwards.   
“Do tell...”  
“You heard of the infamous criminal duo; Cinders?”

His eyes widen, nodding furiously before squeaking in excitement; “Wait, really?”   
You smile, offering him a hand “Ash, criminal mastermind, at your service”.  
He shakes your hand vigorously, “you guys only appeared like, three years ago,” he gushes, “and you’ve already taken the biggest cities by storm!” he looks at you eagerly, much to your surprise as your cheeks flush a delicate pink. “Ash and Sparks” he says around a smile, “you have pulled off some of the most amazing heists I’ve ever seen! Your art thefts are fucking amazing. How’d you do it?”

Before you can reply you take notice of the road you are driving down, your heart bursting into a sprint when you see the untouched building, still blackened by the fire; looming in the distance as you draw steadily closer. Involuntarily you feel your body tense, a sharp inhale of breath causing Jeremy to shoot a confused glance in your direction. “You ok, Y/N?” He asks, slowing to car to look at you, the vehicle rolling past the crumbling concrete. You don’t reply, unable to tear your gaze away; memories searing painfully through your mind. “Y/N?” he tries again, reaching out to touch your shoulder; finally shaking your free.

“Yeah, sorry” you offer him a hollow smile, letting out the breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding. “Do you need to stretch out your leg?” he asks kindly, understanding. You hadn’t notices the ache in your cybernetic structure previously, the pain drowned out by the flooding memories; but at his words it spasms. “That might be a good idea” you admit sheepishly, knowing movement would help, but almost unwilling to step into the open air and face the building. “C’mon” he insists, waving for you to follow him as he hops out of the truck, landing with a light thud; “We can walk past the memorial”.

“Memorial?” the word shocks you, your mind struggling to comprehend what he had meant as you gently lower yourself to the grassy slope. Each movement forward took convincing, your body locking at the thought of the flames roaring in your ears; still, you persist. “Yeah” says Jeremy, a few steps in front of you, “it’s this way”. He leads you around the side of the building, your legs wobbling with each step. No matter how desperate your mind was to seek answers, to find some strand of closure; your body was refusing every argument and stumbling under its own weight.

The building stares at you, large and imposing, glaring down with tens of gaping maws ripped from flame, its screams painfully silent. Then you see it, the mound of rubble that had entombed you and Ray, untouched, but littered with flowers. It’s easier to move now, the pit in your stomach twisting as you pull closer. Jeremy stops, waiting for you to join him with his hands clasped together. Slowly, you pull up beside him, the breeze gently caressing your skin, your body shivering despite the warmth of the night. “What is this?” the question escapes your lips before you can stop it, looking at Jeremy with desperate, pleading eyes.

“The night of the fire” he begins, reciting the tale as you listen intently, everything becoming alien the more he speaks, “the Fake AH Crew lost two of their closest family; the memorial is suppose to respect the memory of them; and police are too afraid to touch it.” You watch him, lips parted softly and eyes beginning to glisten, and quickly turning your attention to the pile you shield your face, certain the emotion would give you away. “But, why is the concrete still here?”

He smiles sadly, motioning to it with a gentle hand, “they couldn’t bear to see the bodies”. You whip round to look at him, taken aback and breath hitching in your throat; “bodies?” you demand harshly. He shifts under your gaze, confused by your sudden change in tone. “Their heart monitors stopped” he tells you, watching as you crouch down by the memorial, reaching to touch the roses atop your concrete prison, “this is Cheshire and Brownman’s grave”.

As you pull the roses towards you your body starts to curl around them involuntarily, the tears stinging behind your eyes. “They’re fresh” you manage to choke, holding back the sob that clung to your ribs, desperate to claw its way out. “We leave flowers every night” he says, the emotion in his voice something you can’t quite decipher; perhaps a mixture of respect and fear. Still, you grip the flowers, aware of your body beginning to rock, eyes coming to lie on the small teddy bear with a chain wrapped securely around it, a small heart sewn into its foot. You stretch your fingers out, feeling the soft fur against your skin before gently picking it up; the silver diamond ring attached to the chain lying cold and imposing against your palm.

“But we didn’t die” you whisper, barely a breath escaping your lips as you stand, the flowers falling to the floor as you continue to stare at the ring.   
“What are you talking about, Y/N?” asks Jeremy, overwhelmed by your behaviour, his eyebrows knitting together. “They died, their hearts stopped as soon as that wall fell”, but your shaking your head, tears trickling down your cheeks. Your head is spinning, body cold as you try and piece together what he was saying to you, sure you must seem insane as you clutch a teddy bear and cry over a pile of rubble; “we didn’t die”.

Watching you as turn your back to him, Jeremy is astounded when you begin to weep softly over the memorial, shoulders shaking. He wants to move forward and pull you close, comfort you; but your words are racing through his mind.  _‘We didn’t die’_ , the statement lashes against his better judgement, and against everything he’s ever been told. He was looking at you now with a new set of eyes, and he was fearful. The stories surrounding you, surrounding the Cheshire, were so terrifying they would easily leave the Vagabond in the dust.

He takes a step back as you turn round to face him, beautiful and fierce, clutching the small bear as his heart misses a beat. He tries to choke out your name, but can’t find his voice; what he does manage, however, has your face contorting in sadness and hurt, “you’re the Cheshire”. You move towards him, only to feel the sting of rejection as he stumbles back, tripping over his own feet. “You’re the Cheshire!” this time it’s an accusation, the anger in his voice throbbing menacingly behind his words.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve put them through?!” his yell stops you, your fingers wrapping tighter around the small bear before it falls to your feet. Stepping towards him, your motions seep intimidation; and you see him shrink slightly from your advance. Your sadness is replaced with a seething rage you had not felt in years; “put them through?!” you demand, voice strong and unwavering. He is backing away from you, the fear in his eyes obvious; but you can’t contain it any more. All of the pain and anguish exploding from your being, white hot and angry.

“You’re fucking kidding me” you continue, walking slowly after him as he scampers towards his truck, “they abandoned us!” You’re screaming now, voice resonating against the trees and chasing after his ankles through the grass. You feel your body shaking, fingers pulling in to form strong fists; “alone, in that fucking cage!” Bending down, you scoop a large chunk of concrete from the ground before hurling it after him; watching as he dodges clumsily. “Because of them we’re inhuman, fucking wires and panels!” at this he turns to face you, back pressed against his truck and suit dishevelled. “Three days” your voice is quietening now, the shaking becoming overwhelming; “we were under there for three days”. You finally reach him, fists held close to your sides, eyes draining of anger to fill with sorrow; “they’ve ruined us”.

You drop to your knees in front of him, staring at your hands as they sit in your lap, body shaking uncontrollably. You can’t hear the wailing that you know to be erupting from your chest, only aware of the agonising pain tracing your leg and plunging into your heart. Slowly, Jeremy approaches you, watching with a torn expression. Moving to lean down and place a hand on your shoulder, you feel a heavy impact against the side of your skull, body toppling. With a yell, Jeremy runs to catch you, only to have strong arms wrap around him and force him into unconsciousness; a bag pulled over his head as you drift into the darkness.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trapped, debilitated, you’re left with nothing but the feeling of the cool, hard floor pressing against your chest.

Groggily, you peel your eyes open to peer into the dimly light room; your head throbbing in time with your heart. Making a quick assessment, you flex each of your muscles, working from your head down, noting the small twinges of pain and bruising. No permanent damage from what you were able to ascertain, nothing that would become a problem during an escape or anything extraneously physical. Aware of the binds around both your wrists and ankles, you try to remain still; knowing that a struggle now could end poorly and drain much required energy. By leveling your breathing you remain calm, this wasn’t your first abduction situation; after all.

  
It takes a few minutes, but you adjust in the darkness to focus on the figure in front of you, similarly bound to a chair and chin resting on his chest. Jeremy looks peaceful, his shoulders rising and falling with his soft breathing, his dishevelled hair a mess of purple that shields his face from your view. You are grateful, momentarily, that he appeared uninjured, until the events of the night come rushing back to you; bringing with them feelings of anger and hurt.  
Suppressing your emotions, you move your eyes to comb the rest of the room, straining to locate what you assume to be the entrance, but unable to find anything more. Plain, cracked walls stare imposingly back, guards in their own right. With an irritated sigh, you shift your attention back to the man in front of you, his once pristine suit now caked in mud. After some time he begins to stir, his shoulders rolling to try and relieve the tension built up in his neck.

  
Leaning back in your chair, you shake your head as he begins to fight with the restraints, your movement subduing his efforts. “There’s no point” you tell him, voice harsh in the silence, “If you broke free now, you wouldn’t get anywhere.” He lets out a large sigh, sinking into his chair and curling his torso towards his knees.   
“Great first date, right?”   
“I can guarantee if this keeps up there won’t be a second” you joke weakly before letting your face fall; “Sorry for trying to throw a rock at your head”. He lets out a chuckle, its energy out of place and uncomfortable in the space; “sorry for showing you your own grave.”

“I think I might have come out of this worse than you” you smile, tilting your head so that your eyes could search his face. Biting his lip he looks up at you, his features soft and vulnerable; “you really didn’t know?” you wait, confused, but he doesn’t continue.   
“Know what?” you prompt, but he just sighs, trying to piece together a situation he barely understood himself.   
“You died, and don’t argue with me Y/N,” he shoots you a stern look, silencing the arguments tingling against your lips. “Cheshire and Brownman – Ray – died. Your heart monitors turned off one after the other, and they didn’t turn back on again. Yours went first, and then Ray’s an hour later.”

  
You can feel your head shaking, a cool nausea creeping across your shoulders to settle in your cheeks, seeping into the tops of your ears. “Listen to me” he tries to lean towards you, his chair rocking and dangerously close to tipping; “they didn’t abandon you, because you weren’t left to abandon. You died. The police even found your body parts.” Your mind races back, the disposal of your leg and Ray’s fingers having been a cruel and bitter retaliation to the abandonment you’d felt, leaving your broken flesh beneath the rubble to elicit some form of guilt that you knew would never come.  
  
“Jack wanted to dig you up” he continues, and you flinch at her name, the redhead’s face pressing against your closed eyelids, “but Geoff couldn’t do it.” His voice is strained as he recounts the events, “the Vagabond’s been a major coping mechanism for Ryan... we barely see him anymore” Your eyes shoot open, the ache in your chest dry and sombre as you stare at Jeremy, hoping somehow that his words were untrue. That somehow, the bloodlust and isolation hadn’t taken over and destroyed him.  
  
Jeremy doesn’t tell you what you want to hear, rather musing gently “He comes out for special occasions though, he likes ice cream.” Silence falls between you as you try to overcome the emotions coursing through your veins; but then his next statement leaves you with more confusion than you had started with; “they didn’t think you were like them, but obviously, considering you’re sat right in front of me in a bright fucking red dress; they were wrong.”  
  
You slip back into the quiet for a moment, thinking. “I don’t know what happened” you admit to him, lost within your confusion. His eyes meet yours, their depths shifting as he searches your face. “Especially not with tonight” you continue, vaguely aware of a pair of approaching footsteps; “but we’ll figure it out once we’re outta here.” He gives you a firm nod, sitting tall in his chair as the door swings open, allowing floods of light to enter the space and reach into the dark corners.  
  
Peering at the men in front of you, it was clear they were simply foot soldiers. Dressed in matching black uniforms, their hair was shaved and boots polished to appear extremely out of place, given the circumstances. They move in front of you, dragging your chair around to sit beside Jeremy, considering. “So” the one on the left says, his voice gruff and drawling; “this is how it’s gonna work.” He takes a step towards you as his friend leans against the opposite wall, his face smug. Tensing, you feel the pull of your restrains beginning to loosen around your cybernetic ankle as you stare down the man approaching you, your face becoming an unreadable mask.

  
“You’re going to give us the location of the rest of your crew” his words are directed at Jeremy, yet his eyes are still on you, raking across your shoulders and face; “or she’ll be wishing she were dead”. He reaches out a hand, grabbing clumps of your hair to yank your head back, flashing a vicious grin. Your eyes strain to meet Jeremy’s, his face unreadable much like your own, until he moves his head a fraction; a nod.

  
With all of your might you kick upwards, your leg breaking free of its binds and colliding with the man hovering above you, causing him to hunch over in pain. With a grunt, you stand and dodge the other man as he lunges at you, throwing yourself, side first, into the closest wall and feeling the chair break away. With immense swiftness you pull your arms in front of you, clutching a sharp piece of wood between your hands. Ducking away, you barely slip his grasp, turning to plunge the piece into the back of his shoulder; pleased at the sound of his howling complimenting Jeremy’s cheers.

  
Rushing to Jeremy, you snap the ties around your wrists before quickly working on his, letting him loose. Once free, he smashes his own chair over the head of the first man, knocking him out for good measure. Grinning, he readjusts his tie, giving you a smug look. You turn your attention to the man you had left bleeding and snatch the wood from his shoulder, pulling your arm back to spear through his chest when more men crash through the door.

  
Suddenly you feel a pressure against your neck, a pinprick before your skin begins to run cold, the numbness spreading. Unable to control your fingers anymore, the wood rolls from your hand. Forcing your eyes to Jeremy you see him struggling, desperately trying to fight his way to you; his mouth moving but the sound inaudible to your ears. Then an intense pain erupts in your stomach as a result of a direct punch, your screaming piercing the silence in your mind as you heave, hunched over and winded.

  
“Now that I have your attention” the man holding you says, smiling politely as he beckons for a new chair to be brought in. You try to focus on him and block out the sound of Jeremy’s yelling; eyes narrow and lips pulled into a snarl. “Make sure he’s watching” he barks to the men holding Jeremy, their hands forcing his face towards you; desperation hidden in the depths of his eyes. You feel yourself being directed down into the chair, another grunt holding your arms behind it painfully tight. “I think we need to get a few things straight”. His hands lash out, gripping your cybernetic leg with unbelievable speed, before he offers you another smile.

  
Within moments the pain is unbearable agony, the tearing of your leg from flesh resulting in the eruption of bloodcurdling screams. His hands hold on tight as you thrash, the tendons and sinew stringing and snapping as he deforms the structure of your leg, utter agony forcing you from your body so that it can involuntarily fight. And with another good tug, a tearing sound sees him stumble back, your leg hanging in his hands as you shriek, blinding torment rushing through your whole body as you convulse and spasm. Unable to see, unable to control your movements, you are faintly aware of him tossing your leg aside, the clatter ringing in the silence as he leans in closer to your face; “I’m in charge here”.

  
With a click of his fingers another prick in your neck brings the darkness rushing towards you, life draining as your blood pools onto the filthy floor.

 

* * *

 

 

He can’t tear his eyes away from your leg to watch the commotion ensuing around you both, the blue lights that he had once found so fascinating and calming now pulsed violently, as if it were itself screaming. It’s twitching had long since stopped, the puddle of blood it lay in glowing as its mechanics whirl and click. He could hear the men around him moving, knew he was being tied down again; but he couldn’t fight, only allow his body to slump.

  
Once his binds were reapplied his chair is dragged to one side of the room, positioned so that all he can see is you. Broken, bleeding and unconscious, tossed across the ground like a rag doll. He knows the mutilation won’t kill you, he understood enough about cybernetics to recognise that the wound was more cosmetic and painful that it was completely debilitating, but he can’t keep help the tears from stinging behind his eyes.

  
“Ouch!” yells the man who had torn away your limb, bouncing exuberantly and swinging a fist; “she’s gonna feel that one in the morning!” Jeremy looks at him now, trying to memorise the sharpness of his features, the smooth flick of his hair and cruel glint in his eyes so that the body could still be identified once he beats him to an unrecognisable state. As if the man could read his thoughts, he turns on his heels dramatically, laughing and approaching Jeremy; arms wide and almost inviting.

  
“What?” he bends down, looming over him “I was only pulling her leg.” He lets another laugh ring through the room as Jeremy scowls, his arms forcing against the restraints. “Ah, ah, ah!” says the man with a wicked smile, “We haven’t even introduced ourselves yet!” He pulls on the back of Jeremy’s chair, spinning him effortlessly, tilting it backwards so that his feet were removed from the ground. “The name’s Gareth, I kinda run this shit show” he says cheerfully, rocking the chair and dragging Jeremy up to your fragile body, forcing him to look at you. “Now I really do want to apologise about this”, he motions to you as Jeremy seethes; “it wasn’t my intention to pull that move so soon!”

  
Gareth runs a hand through his hair, looking at you sadly, “all we really wanted to do was talk to Geoff, and she didn’t need to get involved. Oh, but then the waitress saw you two at the restaurant after that idiot spilled his drink, and there was no way she was gonna come out of this alive.” Jeremy looks at him bitterly, anger bubbling beneath the surface “god, and then this leg thing? Jesus, you really do like leftovers.”

  
Jeremy refuses to retaliate, knowing full well that in doing so Gareth would gain his sick satisfaction. Instead, he remained silent, trying to separate his emotions and bury them, if not to save his own life; then to save yours. Gareth gives him a sheepish smile, “things don’t always go as planned, huh?” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Still!” he begins to move Jeremy’s chair again, dragging it towards the door, “a bargaining chip is a bargaining chip, no matter how many pieces you’re in.”

  
Then it sinks in and Jeremy begins to thrash, wrestling to break his restrains and rush to you, but he’s trapped; the door closing in front of him and locking you alone. “Oh c’mon, don’t be like that” Gareth tells him, patting the top of his head; “you’re turn’s coming right up.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a rescue mission

Ray feels himself being shaken awake, his finger tips trembling painfully and humming with lights. Half unconscious he draws his hand closer, taking in the intricate wiring with confusion before rocketing up straight, eyes wide and alert. Staring at his hand, he feels himself beginning to panic, fear clawing its way up from his stomach and using his ribs as a ladder. Shaking himself and trying to level his head, Ray struggles from the blanket he had cocooned himself inside of and scrambles from the couch. “Fuck!” he exclaims, staring down at his hand as the painful sensation continues to shoot through his fingers; your interlinked distress signal crying for help with impatient hums.

He starts pacing frantically, unsure what to do; his movements sharp and clumsy. Such a signal only sounds when the cybernetic enhancement is damaged; and this could happen for a wide array of reasons. Trying to calm himself down, he thinks of the possibilities and attempts to ease his heart rate. You could have tripped and fallen, could have been submerged in water for too long; but none of it fit with the deep pit of anxiety beginning to form knots in his stomach.

Reaching for his phone, he presses his fingers to the back of the device, flinching as the technology draws the information from his cyber fingertips and inside of its mechanism with a warm shock. Left stinging, he scrolls through the data your signal had sent, becoming angrier as he listens to the audio recording contained within the internal black box.

_“Now that I have your attention - Make sure he’s watching - I think we need to get a few things straight”_

The sound of your bloodcurdling screams are accompanied by your leg’s silent distress call, the faint beeping lacing as an undertone beneath a sickly, wet tearing sound that echoes uncomfortably throughout the apartment; burrowing its way into the carpet.

_“I’m in charge here”_

Ray moves with unwavering determination, slinging his weaponry together as his hands shake; a stream of curses running under his breath. Readying himself, he uploads the location of the signal to his phone before bolting out the door and into the cool night without a moment’s hesitation.

 

* * *

 

 

“All you’ve gotta do sweetheart, is tell us where your boyfriend’s crew hangs out”

“Fuck you”

The punches come quick and sharp, pummelling into your tender stomach mercilessly, causing you to double over while trying to stifle the groan. Lifting your head, you stare at him, his square face furious and pink; eyes the colour of muddy dishwasher water. It had been at least four hours. Four hours since the first time they forced glass into what remains of your weeping leg. Four hours since you’d promised yourself that you’d kill them all, slowly.

“C’mon darlin’” he tries again, his dirt-brown hair plastering to his forehead from the exertion of beating you; “make it easy for everyone.” You purse your lips, face empty and expressionless. “Gary” you guess, watching the man look taken aback before snatching a screwdriver from his pile of torture devices scattered across the floor and forcing it into your leg, your shriek echoing against the walls. “Oh yeah” you mock, smiling sweetly at him through your snarl; “you’re definitely a Gary.”

“Where the  _fuck_  are they hiding?!” he bellows at you, the vein in his neck pulsating. You laugh, despite yourself, the cold sweats and immense pain allowing delirium to make its bed in your mind. “Now Gary,” you say, but he’s already on you, snatching the glass buried deep in your wound and twisting it viciously, a howl of agony ripping from your chest. “You filthy whore” he mutters, his face so uncomfortably close to your own that you could play join-the-dots with his pours.   
“That’s no way to talk to a lady” you pant, ramming yourself forward and head butting him, his nose crunching and spurting against your hairline.

He stumbles back, clutching at his face to try and subdue the gushes of blood running through his fingers. “You just don’t know when to quit” he says, drawing a large packet of industrial nails from his pile on the floor, grasping a hammer in his other hand. Approaching you, your heart begins to thump in your chest, sweat beading across your forehead as you watch him place the tip of the nail against your torn flesh, the hammer hovering over its head.

Four hours is all it had taken for a group of alternating men to mutilate your leg joining beyond recognition. You look at it now, a sorrowful stump adorned generously with decorative shards of glass, barbed wire, pins, staples, cigarette butts and a screwdriver, now finding yourself gifted with your very own flesh and blood morning star.”Last chance” he warns, pushing the long nail tip against your skin, feeling your leg spasm and stomach churn; “Tell me!”

“You really have a way with women, don’t you?” you mock, tossing your head back and chuckling, hysteria lacing in between your words.  He inhales sharply, driving the large nail through your skin with a harsh hit from the hammer, your flesh searing as you squirm. “You’re no woman” he spits, placing another nail against your skin as you draw breath through your locked teeth “you’re not even human.” The nail is harder to push through this time, the shrapnel cluttering its path; still it continues to tear as you scream. “You’re not worth the legs you stand on”

 

* * *

 

 

Ray’s body trembles as he peers through his scope, attempting to get a handle on the small building nestled deep in the woods, just beyond the shipyard. It had taken him far too long to get to this point, and the numerous hurdles yet to overcome were overwhelming to say the least. Trying to steady himself, he isolates one of the many guards tracing their routes around the structure, a bullet firing from his barrel with a soft pop. The man drops instantly, the fragments shattering his skull and the momentum carrying him into the shrubbery.

Letting out a deep breath, Ray continues his motions, never once missing a shot. The exterior of the site slowly goes quiet after half an hour of silently picking off each living being, with the final shot speeding through the last guard’s eye socket as a car pulls up beside the body with a swerve of its tires. Confused, he watches as 3 men exit the vehicle, their bodies frantic. One man waves his arms above his head as the larger barges past, closely followed by a slimmer individual, rushing for the entrance.

Pulling his weapon up, he makes his way silently down from his vantage point, hopeful that the other unknown men trying to enter the building will serve as an appropriate distraction. Slinking across the dead street he presses his back to the building, waiting for a moment before hauling himself up onto the sill of an open window; snaking his way inside.

 

* * *

 

 

The force snaps Jeremy’s head backwards, his jaw stinging as Gareth’s knuckles make contact. His silence had been frustrating for their captor, of who was trying his best to remain civil despite the horrendous wounds he was inflicting upon Jeremy’s body. He’s pacing now, back and forth in front of the young bound man, a smile still dancing across his lips before his attention returns. “Look man” Gareth says, rolling his wrist and flexing his fingers, “You’re really gonna want to start talking.” Jeremy just stares, his cuffs biting at the skin of his wrists as he tries unsuccessfully to break free; face a vicious snarl.

“All I want is to talk to dear old Geoff”, his arms open and face warm and welcoming, “and then we’ll let your little girlfriend go. We might even drop her off at the hospital.” The anger inside Jeremy is beginning to rise, flushing in his cheeks and tightening his chest. He remains silent, focusing on the feeling of the ties around his wrists, the circulation almost severed. “Wouldn’t be much of a waste” he muses thoughtfully, lifting Jeremy’s head to face him; “no one wants damaged goods.”

He pulls back his fist to strike again, but the sound of yelping and gunfire stops him. Standing, he pats Jeremy on the top of his head before providing an apologetic smile; darting out into the hallway after the sounds and letting the door swing closed with a clatter. Alone, Jeremy lets his body begin to shake, his faint cries crawling their way up from his chest and rasping from his mouth as his ribs ache against his bruises.

Struggling, he attempts to break his binds by flexing, unable to gain enough force to snap free. Taking in a deep breath, he moves to stand, his legs twisting uncomfortably as he hops; throwing himself back onto the ground with as much strength as he can muster. The chair creaks uncomfortably, and he repeats his process; pulling himself to his feet and falling against the surface; pain surging through his legs and spine.

The sound of the door makes him stumble on his final jump, his body tumbling free as the chair splinters into pieces; his hands snatching at the chunks before grasping them like a weapon. “Need some help with that?” jokes a deep voice, and Jeremy immediately drops the wooden shiv and falls to his knees, a half relieved and half anguished squeak escaping his lips “Ryan!”

The Vagabond watches him closely, face calm and shoulders relaxed as he pulls Jeremy up, steadying him on his feet. “C’mon” he says, hauling the shorter man along with him; stumbling out the door. With the blood rushing back to his legs, Jeremy begins to find his balance, pulling away from Ryan with a frantic expression. “The exit’s this way” Ryan motions, but Jeremy is shaking his head frantically; Gavin skidding into the group with panic in his eyes.

“The fuck is going on, Jeremy?” Gavin demands, his voice high and erratic, “who’s that woman screaming?” Jeremy turns, grabbing at the Golden Boy’s collar and pulling his face level to his, face desperate and eyes pleading. “Which way is she?” Gavin points behind him to a door ajar further down the hallway, the sounds of a struggle trickling across the ground. Then Jeremy is running as fast as his legs will carry him, tripping over his clumsy legs as the Vagabond pushes past him, barging into the room before Jeremy can utter any form of warning.

 

* * *

 

 

The ground is cool against your chest and stomach, stinging at your forearms as you prop yourself up, staring in disbelief as Ray shoots the man towering above you through the small window on the cell door. With a victorious cry, he rushes in and crumples to his knees next to you; pulling your face into his hands as he presses his forehead against you own. The moment of comfort lasts for a short moment before he’s working frantically trying to pull you into his arms and manoeuvre your broken body out of the door.

“Took you long enough” you laugh airily, your body heaving as your open wound drags against the ground, the shrapnel tugging at your skin and catching in the uneven stone. “Oh, excuse me!” he exclaims, balancing you against his side and wrapping an arm around your waist, supporting your weight; “I didn’t realise that this is your idea of a first date.” You rest against him, trying to remain in the realm of consciousness, vaguely aware of your cybernetic leg swinging against his side.

Unable to gain enough control over your combined movements he lets out and infuriated huff, the sound of footsteps quickly approaching the open door. Placing you gently on the ground, he draws his gun, aiming it at the entrance with steely determination. “This is the last time I’m letting you go on dates without me” he grumbles, firing shots and downing two men as they pull into the room; “there’s going to be a rigorous testing procedure!”

But Gareth is faster than the others, agilely launching across the blockage caused by his dead men and throwing himself at Ray, tackling him to the ground. With a yelp, Ray begins to thrash, trying to escape his grip; the gun clattering across the floor and beneath the bleeding bodies. You want to scream as Gareth lifts him above his head, smashing his body back against a wall as the plaster crumbles and disperses in a puff of dust; but you can’t manage a noise.

Instead, you begin to crawl, hauling your body across the ground as quickly as possible, fingers diving under the cooling corpses and desperately searching for the weapon. “Oh no you don’t!” roars Gareth, his hands tightening around Ray’s neck as he throttles him, tossing him aside as his struggles subside and clawing fingers fall numbly. He smiles cruelly, snatching at the many defiling objects that are exposed from your wound, dragging you backwards as you scream and thrash in agony.

Mind going fuzzy, you begin to lose focus as the pain stretches through your veins and digs into your bones. Still desperate, you try to wiggle free, but his hands are firm against what is left of your leg; shredding the flesh and mangling the muscles in his vice grip. He continues to pull you backwards, your nails biting into the concrete as you scream and struggle, unable to find purchase amongst the shallow cracks. With a smooth movement he flings you against the wall, your head smashing backwards before falling to your knees; blackness creeping into the corners of your vision.

“Cheshire?” you name is a barely audible whisper slipping from lips of the figure standing in the doorway, but at its utterance saw everything stop. Struggling, you lift your head, its weight far too much for your neck; and then your eyes meet his. “Y/N?” You watch as his piercing blue eyes buried deep in the skull’s sockets grow with grief, his body completely frozen in shock as he stares at you; hearing you croak out his name; “Rye...” 

The ground rushes towards you, your body going willingly, unable to continue the battle to stay conscious.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rescue mission takes an emotional turn as the crew comes face to face with the members they had lived three years believing to be dead.

The noise that rips its way out of Ryan’s mouth is enraged and animalistic as he surges after Gareth, charging with his shoulder to force him against the plaster wall, desperate to get him as far away from you as possible. His body impacts against the surface with a sickening crunch, cracks tracing the shape of his shoulders against the wall as if his breath had escaped and fused with the building. With a growl, the Vagabond slams Gareth’s head backwards, hands wrapping like clamps around his throat; his thumbs resting on his chin as he begins to crush his windpipe.

Distracted and filled with resentment, he doesn’t notice the grunts entering until they’re on top of him, momentarily allowing Gareth a window of opportunity to escape. Slipping free with a pained and choked gasp, the rival man’s eyes are daggers as he watches his men trying to subdue the Vagabond’s rage. “Well” says Gareth while wincing, readjusting his collar and gingerly stepping around as the masked man; of who lashes out to grab one of the men. Viciously, he hurls him into the wall headfirst, his neck ramming into his spine as he crumples into an immobile heap. Managing to struggle to the doorway, Gareth spares a shudder as Ryan turns to the remaining grunt, the Vagabond latching onto him and digging his fingers into the man’s throat, causing blood to spurt as his nails pierce the skin and close off his air supply; “I think it’s my time to leave.”

He swiftly pulls a sticky bomb from his person, hurling it across the room and out into the hallway, the beeping only ceasing once a powerful explosion rips open the wall. Moving effortlessly he makes his way across the floor and out of the gaping hole before Jeremy is able to grab him, his fingers skidding against the fabric on his wrists. Swearing; his eyes prick and stomach churns as the clatter of a smoke grenade hitting the floor, seeing panic bubble inside of his chest while he lurches further into the room to take cover.

The loud pop is followed by a sharp fizzle, smoke emanating from the small object and leaving the men choking, engulfing the space and swirling into their lungs. White and thick, shadows are all that remain of their hindered vision, blinded and confused. Crawling and feeling across the floor, Jeremy attempts to find you, his fingers touching a cool metal object that stings at his skin. With a start, he realises his fingers are curling around your cybernetic leg; his stomach twisting unhappily as he pulls it closer and attaches it to his side.

The sound of gunfire echoes through the door, the shots ringing out in quick succession while Jeremy heaves; chest burning as he sees a Gavin-shaped shadow rush into the white haze, golden pistols in hands. “There’s more on the way” he states breathlessly, rubbing his eyes with a fist, his eyelids burning as he searches and grabs Jeremy’s arm; pulling him towards the door “We have to leave, now.”   
“No!” yells Jeremy, his voice harsher than intended “we have to get them.”  
“This isn’t a hostage situation, J; we can’t bring them!”

“They aren’t hostages” Ryan’s voice is strained, tense and pained. “Gavin, help Jeremy with Ray” he instructs the two men, but Gavin doesn’t move; too shocked by his words. “Ray?” he stammers, eyes wide and searching through the smoke, panic rising. Ryan draws closer as the smoke billows around his form softly, now visible and cradling you to his chest with gentleness Jeremy had never witnessed from the Vagabond.  Pushing his confusion aside, he directs Gavin towards Ray, a semi-conscious pile on the ground, and begins to lift him; balancing his weight between himself and a silently sobbing Gavin.

“Geoff!” Bellows Ryan, the name ricocheting through the hallways as he escapes the room, holding your body close to his chest. “Geoff, we need a medic!” he tries to call again, his voice catching in his throat; Jeremy and Gavin stumbling behind the Vagabond as he twists and turns through the hallways. following the sound of the returning voice. “Get out the front, you assholes!” Geoff stands tall and yelling between a flurry of gunfire, shooting indiscriminately at the few remaining men atop the hill as he becomes visible.

Working his way through the building, the cool air does little to ease the fire raging inside the Vagabond as he pulls up to Geoff, taking cover by pressing himself against the wall. With a clumsy action, Jeremy and Gavin do the same, Ray letting out a small moan as his body rocks against the brick. Stealing the man’s attention, all Ryan can utter is a desperate “please” as he holds out your limp body to Geoff, his eyes pleading and bloodshot.

Geoff stops, ducking away from the returning fire and joining his crew to peer at your body as it is cradled to Ryan’s chest, his face shifting from the confusion sparked by Vagabond’s out of character generosity and kindness to that of anguish and disbelief. Reaching out, he brushes the hair from your face with a tattooed hand; his touch as gentle as the gasp that leaves his lips. Rushing over to Jeremy and Gavin, he lifts up Ray’s head, watching as the younger man blinks back at him in disorientation, slipping in and out of consciousness.

“How is this..?” he can’t finish his sentence, unable to find the words as his head shakes back and forth.  
“Geoff, please” Ryan urges, again offering your body to him, his face dressed in pain, “I have to get to Michael.” Nodding silently, Geoff takes you into his arms, extremely cautious when handling you; careful of your wounds and slowly weeping leg. “She needs Jack, now.”   
“C’mon sweetheart” he coos down to you, holding you tightly as he begins to jog to the waiting vehicle; “we’re not losing you this time.”

Jeremy and Gavin are quick to haul Ray after their boss, keeping a steady pace and throwing a glance back to Ryan as he settles into the Vagabond again, his eyes crazed as he shoots each of the remaining men without error before he races back into the building; following the early embers of the flame-happy demolition man.

 

* * *

 

“Jack!” Geoff roars, approaching the van as quickly and smoothly as his legs will carry him, shielding your face from the spray of dirt erupting from the sticky bombs Jack was hurling from the vehicle’s roof. “I thought you said we weren’t doing hostages” Jack growls, her red hair whipping around her face viciously, face set into a scowl.  
“We’ve gotta get moving” Geoff pants up to her, but she doesn’t turn to acknowledge him, instead funneling her concentration into clearing the road in preparation for the escape. “Get down!” she cries before tossing another explosive at the embankment, a lone, pained scream and sharp gurgle signalling that all the men had perished.

Hopping down she readies herself to lecture the rest of the crew, and remind them that hostages in this situation would only do more harm than good; but then her eyes fall on Ray, his groans of pain becoming stronger and more noticeable. Her attention then moves to you, curled in Geoff’s arms and shaking beneath the cold sweat locking your being into unconsciousness as her face contorting in horror and guilt.

“What in the  _fuck_ , Geoffrey?” she demands, but Geoff is already moving towards the back of the van;  
“there’s no time.” Jack’s fingers clutch the handle before sliding the door open, helping Geoff lower you carefully onto the makeshift medical gurney installed in the back; “She needs immediate attention”. Geoff then turns to help load Ray inside, grateful that as the man begins to regain consciousness his limbs cooperate with their efforts. Lying him down gently by your side, he beckons a shell shocked, badly bruised Jeremy and softly weeping Gavin into the van after him.

Swinging into the front seat, he starts up the engine, peeling away and circling the building to relocate towards the pickup point as Jack begins to tend to you. Swerving towards the flames, Geoff flinches instinctively, before turning to throw Jeremy a hard look; “What the fuck is going on?” Jeremy shakes himself, dragging his gaze away from your bruised face to stare at Geoff with a tormented expression; but he is unable to pull the words from inside him. “Jesus, Jeremy” Geoff growls, screeching to a stop, Gavin scurrying to the van’s door and swinging it open to beckon the distant figures of Ryan and Michael; “why the hell are you hanging out with my dead crew?!”

The explosion erupting from the building cuts off Jeremy’s reply, the shattering of glass flying towards the van as everyone shields themselves. Quickly, Ryan and Michael run to the vehicle and clamber into the van as Geoff pulls away, putting as much distance as possible between the rest of the crew and the now blazing building. Panting heavily, Michael collapses to his knees besides Ray, face covered in soot and sweat, eyes searching his face is disbelief.

“Ray?” Michael’s voice cracks as he shakes a man he never expected to see again, face paling as Ray groans and coughs. Slowly, his eyes drift open, squinting as he takes in his surroundings, before flinching at the sight of the crew; staring sadly at him. “I... err, what?” he manages, his voice raspy as it forces its way out of his bruised, constricted throat to pierce the heaviness in the air; “I don’t understand-“ his words are cut off as Michael hugs him, face screwed up as his emotions get the better of him; shaking. Taken aback, Ray winds his arms around Michael, of who is now struggling to hold in the tears. It takes a moment for Ray to process the situation before closing his eyes and letting go of his anger; clinging tightly to his friend. “We thought we’d lost you” chokes Michael, his voice thick with tears; “oh god we lost you”.

Watching the display the crew is shaking and silent, thought Jack continues to work, remaining incredibly stable on her feet as Geoff flings the getaway car around corners and darts through the streets. Unable to look away, Jeremy watches as the Vagabond removes his mask, tears trickling slowly down his smudged cheeks as he steps around Michael, offering the young man a gentle and comforting squeeze of the shoulder and ruffling Rays hair affectionately. He continues to scoot past Jack and towards your body; ignoring the fiery woman’s scolding. Gently he repositions you as best he can, resting your head in his lap whilst Jack checks your ribs for breakage or urgent damage, his hand running through your hair as he stares down at you; lost.

“Almost there” states Geoff, turning the final corner and racing down the street; skidding the van into the warehouse and opening his door simultaneously, jumping out as it pulls to a stop. Quickly, he is at the vans side door, ordering the crew out so that he can help get you to the medical bay. Clambering out, Ray struggles to maintain his balance, Gavin and Michael supporting him as he wobbles. Now standing in a huddle, the crew watch as the Vagabond stands, gently pulling you into his arms and swiftly following Jack.

 

* * *

 

“We have to get the shrapnel out” Jack says as she pulls on her medical gloves, rolling the surgery cart up next to the bed Ryan is lying you carefully across. “Put some gloves on, and for god sakes; get your hair out of the way”, she doesn’t look at him to see the agony his face is contorting with, instead moving to face your torn and tattered leg. Doing as he’s told, the Vagabond runs to the sink and removes his face paint, sterilising himself before returning to Jack, of who is administering a drip and anaesthetic into the vein lacing across the top of your hand.

“Are you with me, Ryan?” she asks, finally looking up into his blue eyes, pleading him to remain in control. The Vagabond nods tightly, trying to hang on to his unfeeling personal. “take this” Jack hands him a pair of medical grade pliers, and his stomach lurches as he is instructed to begin the removal of the nails littering your flesh. With a deep breath he begins to work, tugging on the metal and feeling your skin cling to it in resistance before it comes free, only to be dropped into the collection dish to his left.

Hours pass like this, his head pounds with every dislodging, teeth grinding as he feels your body tense beneath his fingers. Still, Jack works diligently beside him, her dedication and expertise obvious with each action. Every now and again her eyes flash to one of her oldest friends, biting her lips and letting her words fall into your lap; “you didn’t know”. She is soft and gentle, and yet her words burn against Ryan’s chest, constricting against him momentarily. With a shaky breath, he retracts his hands; looking sorrowfully down at your face, letting his fingers stroke your hair; “but I didn’t check”.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a part of you still missing, you are left to face the monumental task of reuniting with the family you thought you’d never see again. Secrets are left scattered across the floor as you try and pick up the pieces of a life you’d left behind.

The first thing you become aware of is the stream of consciousness running in the blackness of your mind, incomprehensible and intense. The crackling of fire echoes in your ears, the heat on your left side becoming unbearable as you battle to break free of the darkness, unable to move. Desperate, you manage to take in a deep gasp, your eyes darting open to stare groggily at the ceiling tiles, eyelids heavy and unpredictable.

The heat on your left grows more comfortable, no longer burning as it had in your mind. You manage to roll your head over to look at your hand as it is held absentmindedly by fingers decorated in tattoos and scars. Forcing your mind through the fog of anaesthetic, you shift your attention to the man sat on your bed, a book in his lap and tired eyes scanning the pages; lost in an easier world. 

Watching his steady breathing, you’re heart aches at the sight of him. His face is just as soft and sombre, if not aged and folded with the countless years of stress, loss and vices. His moustache as impressive as ever, twirling upwards with an elegant curve to create a permanent smile. Beneath his white dress shirt you notice large blocks of art intricately weaving together to form a loud narrative; some stories of which you have never been witnessed too. You wonder how long it has been for him, whether he has felt every day clinging to his back as you have; or whether the three years of your absence have simply hardened him into a closed man. Though as you trace his features you realise he looks far calmer than you had ever seen him, untroubled and content.

As if feeling your gaze he glances over to you, his eyes warm and kind as he gives your hand a squeeze. Neither of you speak, rather letting the comfortable silence between you smooth over the tensions and anxieties you had harboured. As you try and piece together your memories you can see Ray’s face, frenzied as he clashed against the onslaught of men piling into the room, his limp body burning into your mind.

“Where’s Ray?” your voice is harsh and raspy in the silence of the room, your words hanging in the air expectantly. Geoff offers you a smooth, pleasant smile, your worries ebbing slightly at the sight. “He’s fine,” he tells you, “a little beaten up, but he’s fine. Last I saw him he was leaving Gavin in the dust with Mario Kart.” Your lips twitch as relief washes over you, feeling the stress in your body release; the ache in your ribs slowly dimming.

Letting your head fall back, you sigh into the pillows, staring up at the ceiling, elated. “Oh thank god” you breathe, slipping your hand from Geoff to run it through your hair; rejection flitting across his face as he repositions his now empty hand. “He put up one hell of a fight” Geoff muses, his moustache twitching in amusement, and you smile with him; “that’s my boy. He’s got no brakes”.    
Staring off into the distance, Geoff’s face falls slightly; “He’s grown up.”  
“He’s 29 Geoff.”  
“He’s way older than that, I barely recognise him anymore...”

You turn your gaze to him, watching the powerful man who saw cities burn and turn to charcoal now crumble beneath the weight of his losses. Uncertain, you part your lips, searching for some form of comfort; finding none. Instead, you try for a joke, affectionate and proud; “he’s still a walking meme”. At this Geoff chuckles, the light returning to his eyes as a dim smoulder; “maybe he is the same old Ray.”

Both Geoff and you fall quiet, watching each other and contemplating the past and the future’s potential. Slowly, you break the silence, opening your arms invitingly. Knocking you breathless, Geoff doesn’t hesitate to pull you in for a tight and fatherly hug, his moustache tickling the side of your neck as he chuckles. “I can’t remember a day where I didn’t miss your stupid face.”

Your shaking now, tears gingerly tracing across your bruised cheeks as the pit in your stomach deepens, knotting itself as Geoff pulls away and touches your shoulder, “love ya, kid.”  
“Same” you whisper through a smile, vaguely aware as your body trembles and tears well in the corners of your eyes.    
“Don’t scare me like that again, ok?” and you’re quick to agree with him, your voice muffled in his hair.   
“Can I see Ray, now?” you ask tentatively as you pull away, finally clearing all instances of fog that had clouded over your mind

“Can you walk?” he questions and you offer him an affectionate smile; his eyebrows quirking as he stands in response to you beginning to shift in your bed; “I should be good, just need some help getting going.” You accept his hand and allow him to steer you into sitting before he hesitates. “Erm, Y/N?” he starts with his eyes quickly darting to your leg and then up to your face, watching anxiously as you shuffle to the edge of the bed, going to throw your feet off and onto the floor. Your stomach drops as the toes on your right foot makes contact with the cool tiles to send shivers into your spine, but the breeze that tickles across your amputation is numb and nauseating once it enters the open air.

Heaving, you snatch the dish Geoff thrusts into your hands, letting your body convulse as you vomit, ears ringing and body shaking as the cold sweat sets in. You force yourself to breathe deeply and deliberately, urging the room to stop spinning. The bed creaks next to you, the space sinking as Geoff sits quietly beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and rubbing small circles against your arm comfortingly with his thumb. Finally, you open your eyes; body calming down and nausea ebbing away. You throw him an apologetic smile before managing a ‘sorry’ as he takes the dish from you, emptying it away and cleaning up as if he was unfazed by your weak stomach. “I’m not used to seeing it on its own.”

Silently, Geoff brings you a set of crutches, leaning them against the bed as he looks at you, his eyes shifting sadly. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to” he says eventually as you shuffle the crutches under your arms and haul your body upward, balancing unsteadily for a moment. You sigh, throwing him an expression that pleaded for his understanding; “thank you”. For a moment, he does nothing, wanting to press the issue; but he nods and settles his shoulders into a relaxed state.

“Of course” is his reply as he closes the distance between you, his hands hovering by your elbow as you start hobbling forward, slow and disorientated at first; but soon picking up the pace. “How long was I out?” you ask him, moving through the door as he opens it and working your way through the familiar hallways of the hideout base. Looking around, it is as though you had never left; time having simply frozen as it waited for your return. “A few days” Geoff admits from your side as you trace your way through the twists and turns, passing the crew’s emergency sleeping quarters, the kitchen, and ammunitions; settling back into the ghost of yourself.

“Jesus” you mutter, rounding the corner to come face to face with a hushed room, Michael, Gavin and Jeremy who had once been yelling and pounding the air in enjoyment now silently scuffling to their feet and moving in front of you; fidgeting nervously. Before you can speak Ray is barging past them and embracing you, relieved. “Y/N” he breathes, chuckling “Fucking Christ, don’t do that shit again”.   
You laugh, unstable as his weight throws off your balance, crutches sliding across the floor as you gasp “no promises”. He released you before briefly pressing his forehead to your own, you anxieties melting away. Pulling back and smiling at you, relief is obvious as it adorns each of his features.”I thought you’d died” he admits sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as you regain your footing and nudge his shin with your crutch, “better luck next time.”

“Well?” you roll your eyes, aware of the slow entrance of pain as the pain killers begin to dissipate from your system, “don’t all rush in at once.” Then everyone is talking, Jeremy being the first to hug of you out of the remaining three, your hand automatically reaching out to delicately touch his bruising cheek in concern; “they got you good, huh?” Your words are squeezed from you as Michael drags you into a bone-crushing bear hug, his red curls tickling your cheeks and nose as he rocks you slightly. You pat him on the head, watching as Jeremy shrugs and motions to you; his eyes sad “not as good as you.” You bark out a laugh as Michael finally released you, the young man sniffling and rubbing his eyes. You lift up what remains of your leg, a smile on your face as you wave it back and forth “nah” you joke, hopping slightly; “tis but a flesh wound.”

With an amused squeak Gavin encases you with his arms, body shaking and touch gentle; as though he can’t believe that you are real. Closing your eyes, you savour the contact with him, heart aching as you reunite with your brothers. The sound of a door opening slices through the jovial chatter and your eyes flit open, only to meet with those so familiar you could recreate their colour in a paint pallet. He stares at you, his face pained and lips parted in shock; before he turns back on his heels and vacates the room as quickly as he’d entered.

Moving away from Gavin, you cast Geoff a confused and hurt look, but he just shrugs. “I think he’s just having a hard time” he guesses, placing a strong hang on your shoulder apologetically “He’s been the Vagabond for so many years, feeling Ryan slowly waking up might be a bit much”.  
“He’s been super weird since we got back” interjects Jeremy in agreement, running a hand through his hair to diffuse the purple, “he won’t even talk to me anymore”.   
“Maybe he’s just blaming himself?” suggests Gavin helpfully, but Geoff is shaking his head, chuckling under his breath to dismiss the concept. “We all blame ourselves” says the tattooed man, “but I’m not sure you’d get anywhere with him as Y/N, you’d need to be more on his wavelength.” He sighs sorrowfully, suddenly tired with the weight on his shoulders, “It would be nice to see Ryan more often. Vagabond’s a bit of a dick.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so upset” continues Jeremy, crossing his arms and staring towards the door Ryan had disappeared behind, thoughtful.   
“Yeah, people generally get upset when they find out their closest friend is dating their dead girlfriend” replies Jack, entering the space sipping a cup of coffee, offering you a friendly smile, of which you return with distress. The redhead shrugs, unaffected by your irritation and the shock upon the faces of Michael and Gavin, small excited and confused noises emanating from the latter’s lips.

“What?” Jack says, narrowing her eyes at you, “that was like, 3 years ago”   
“Jack” you whine, eyes begging her to stop  
“Sorry, that’s right, you definitely weren’t dating”  
“thank you-“  
“you were engaged, yeah?”   
“JACK!”  
“Everyone knew”  
“NO THEY DIDN’T”   
“then how did I know?”  
“You’re my mom, of course I’m going to fucking tell you”  
“...Oh”

You stare at the woman, every loving feeling you had ever had towards her twisting into frustration and anxiety as your eyes scan the faces in the room, the silence like a heavy blanket that’s too hot against your chest. “Wait, what?!” cries Jeremy, dropping his face into his hands and groaning comically in defeat, your gaze drifting from him to Ray who watches you, chewing his lip.

Slowly, deliberately, he nods to you; “what are you waiting for? Get on after him.” Sheepishly smiling at everyone, you quietly excuse yourself and click your way after Ryan, moving past a frozen Michael and Gavin and a devastated Jeremy; your heart hammering and nerves seeping out through your pores.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trapped within your anger, the Vagabond and Cheshire find themselves screaming as Ryan and yourself try desperately to break through.

Standing outside of what you remember to be Ryan’s room you tentatively knock, the movement inside stopping at the sound of your arrival and nervous energy wafting underneath the door. You wait a moment before knocking louder, your crutches digging uncomfortably into your skin while you hold yourself upright. An irritated sigh hums from your lips, before you bang angrily on the door for a final time, “I know you’re fucking in there.” Nothing, no sound, no movement, and no answers greet your insistence, only more anxious atmosphere. Grumbling, your frustration is fuelled on by the aching in your body left behind from the dwindling pain killers. “Get your ass out here” you spit, suddenly furious.

Though the Vagabond serves as the darker embodiment of a gentle man, he had become a stronger imposing force post joining the Fakes, part of two personas living within a single body and an unforseeable consequence of the incident you had both experienced in Greece. The events go unspoken between you, walled off within your mind; but you couldn’t avoid its effects. You’d both been thrown into states of immense anger and irrationality; struggled to find your way back in a single piece, your personalities forever shattered.

One man was gentle, loving and compassionate, whilst the other was stubborn, rash, and cruel defense mechanism, perfectly complimenting the Cheshire that had purred inside of you in your rage. Long ago you’d loved each in every possible way, the Cheshire and the Vagabond, Y/N and Ryan; a perfect team so in sync that they could take on the world. However, dealing with the Vagabond outside of the Cheshire had always been difficult, two sets of characteristics that would mix to the point of explosive confrontation. Still, as your anger grows you let the Cheshire stir inside of you; embracing an anger you had long since abandoned.

“Vagabond, open this fucking door!” With a harsh punch your knuckles crack the wood, the surface caving around your fist with a spray of splinter. Quickly the door is yanked open, your heart leaping when you finally see Ryan stood before you; looking rather confronted. “I can’t talk to you right now” he says, his voice stern. Glaring, you ignore the aching in your chest as you stare into his brilliant blue eyes, trying to calm the fluttering in your stomach. “Yeah?” you demand, poking him in the chest with the end of your crutch, forcing him back into the room; “well too fucking bad.”

Following him in, you watch as he stalks around the space, his hands shaking violently as he tries to hide them deep in his pockets. “I come back from the dead” you hiss, tensing your shoulders and feeling a coolness move over you, “and you can’t spare me a few fucking minutes of your time?” He squirms under your anger, lips pressed into a firm line and hair beginning to fray from his long ponytail. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Wrong with me?!” he seethes, throwing his arms erratically as his eyes widen,  _“What the hell were you thinking_?” He begins to storm around the room, his boots kicking at the maroon carpet as you fume and try to find the source of the anger taking hold of you. “Three years!” he continues with his back to you, the tension in his neck and shoulders straining with every breath. “Three years you pretended to be dead, left me here and ran off with Ray!”

“Excuse me?!” you reply, affronted and defensive, “I was left in the fucking ground!” but he laughs erratically, hand going to his forehead.   
“You were dead!” he bellows, “Your heart monitor stopped, Chess, that concrete killed you!” You grit your teeth, struggling to maintain your balance as you continue to scream at him, tears threatening to pool over and spoil your cheeks. “Is that what it’s about?” you bark out a harsh laugh, shaking your head, “You think I faked my own death?” he doesn’t reply, rather standing there and viciously shaking, trying to suppress the snarl that is creeping its way onto his face to hang around his nose.

“You’re fucking joking” you sneer, Cheshire now in full control as you rage onward, powerful and equally offended; “you think I ran into a raging fire, fell out of a burning building, go crushed and eventually amputated my leg just so I could go running off with Ray?”   
“So that you could get out of marrying me?” he taps his chin dramatically, pretending to be thoughtful “sounds about right.” Confusion taints your movements whilst your body beginning to tremble and strain from the exertion of holding yourself up, exhaustion lacing its way into your anger. “You think I’d be that desperate to get out of commitment?” you seethe, watching as he paces around the couch, refusing to look at you, “just because I wasn’t ready to get married?”

“LIAR!” he roars, hurling an empty mug at the wall, shattering it into pieces; “you were never going to marry me, no matter how long we’d waited.” He turns to you now, eyes alight with anger, the Vagabond taking full control and spiking the first instance of fear into your heart. “All you ever did was make promises before running off and hiding away,” he’s approaching you now, gaining ground as you force your body to remain calm and confident; refusing to give any signs of vulnerability. “After Greece I was never good enough,” he continues, throwing his arm angrily, “and I would never be able to give you what Ray could; you always laughed louder with him”.

Squaring your shoulders, you force your face to conform, smoothing your features and transferring the fire into your eyes; taking his final blow, “You only agreed because you felt sorry for me.” Tired, infuriated and wounded; you blink slowly, drawing in a heavy and calm breath; “I’m done talking to you.” He looks surprised, furrowing his brows as his face darkens, eyes flashing dangerously; “Oh no you’re not, we’re only just getting started.”

You click your tongue in irritation, frustration coursing through your being as he talks. “Let’s talk about you for a little bit, shall we?” he growls, eyebrow raised expectantly as you draw in a sharp breath, allowing it to emanate into a low hiss as it escapes your bared teeth. “What?” you demand, leaning against a wall as so to throw your arm in the air at him, “why don’t you share why, exactly, Ryan wasn’t enough” he flashes a wicked smile, eyes serious and cold; “it broke his heart, you know.”

“I didn’t break his heart” you manage, defensive; but the Vagabond tuts and laughs at your comment;   
“you smashed it to pieces.” At his words you’re shaking your head in dejection, but his fury grows increasingly intense as he hurls his final demand at you, hitting you square in the chest and winding you through the tears threatening to spill, “Why wasn’t he good enough?!”

“I was good enough for you, Vagabond!” you find yourself screaming, the words bubbling from your lips to slap sadly down your front, “but I would never be something Ryan deserved.” You statement hangs limply in the air, on display and blaring. Breathing heavily, you stare across the room at the Vagabond, his eyes suddenly softening as Ryan begins to stir. “I’m not exactly a good person, not after Greece” you roll your shoulders as he starts to approach you, but you’re unsure who you’re talking to anymore. “You and I, Vagabond; we can destroy each other for the rest of our lifetimes without a problem. I have no issues tearing you down and killing everything we’ve built over and over again. But I won’t destroy Ryan.”

“Cheshire, are you really being heroic here?” the Vagabond jokes, but his voice is strained as he tries to suppress the emotions swirling inside of him, banging against his ribs. “No” your voice rings out, authoritative and final as you pull your body upwards to support your weight on the crutches, glaring up at him; “I’m being decent.”

“And what, going on a date with Jeremy was you being decent, too?” his words hurt, but you let them bite into your skin and gnaw on your bones. Slowly, you draw in a shaky breath, aware of you knuckles turning white as they grip your supports tightly. “He made it easier to breath” you manage, anger ebbing away as both of your bodies begin to settle; heavy under the weight of the world, “I didn’t want to be me anymore, and with him; I could stop worrying about the Cheshire, and be Y/N.” Your eyebrows furrow together, eyes stinging as you focus on the floor; “I just wanted to stop hurting.”

The flames from your memories lick gently at your body as they do every night, caressing your legs and burning the back of your neck; your limbs constantly uncomfortable and restless beneath their touch. You remember how Jeremy had helped you step outside of yourself, encouraging you to truly enjoy life in a way you hadn’t in years. He lifted the pressure from your chest and then removed the lump in your throat, settling your screams until they turned into laughter. You’d left the flames behind that night, and each interaction had seen you stand above the pit and revel in the smoke. “He was escape, Ryan” you whisper, looking up sorrowfully into his eyes, your hair tumbling across your face in tangled wisps; “He was so much like you.”

The silence buzzes between you both, electrifying the atmosphere with a tension so uncomfortable you were struggling to stand. Watching, you see his eyes begin to smoulder, grief churning inside of their blue depths like an oncoming storm. His hand rises to anxiously play with his sandy hair, twisting the pony tail between his fingers in an attempt to calm him down. You can see the Vagabond seeping from him much the same way as the Cheshire was releasing you, her presence settling back inside, strong, vicious but finally subdued. “Like me?” he asks his voice now gentle, confusion carrying his words across the space to your ears; rushing into your heart.

With a groan, you let yourself slip down your crutches, resting your body on the floor and head against the wall; eyes closed and tears clinging to your lashes. Hearing his knees creak as he lowers himself next to you, the silence remains undisturbed. Neither of you move, nor do you try and stop the tears from drifting down your cheeks. “I couldn’t control her” you breathe, voice cracking as the memories of her anger, your anger, merged to become a destructive force to be reckoned with. The death, blood and countless screams clogging your head as you try to wrestle through. “She nearly killed you”, you feel him tense beside you, and certain he was remembering the rage that tore through, leaving him in your wake.

“The Vagabond tried to kill you multiple times” he reminds you, his voice a gentle smile, but you’re shaking your head, rolling it to face him and forcing your eyes to stare into his own; “I can take the Vagabond, but I wasn’t about to let it Cheshire try again.”   
“I trusted you” he managed, and you grimace unhappily, “you were strong enough to keep her down.”   
“I wasn’t, and I still don’t think I am.”

Deliberately, Ryan stretches out his hand and hesitates before resting his fingers against your cheek and guiding your lips to his; your body leaning into his kiss. The warmth surrounding you now no longer burns, the flames ebbing away as he pressed you to his chest, arms winding around you as your hands move to his hair and pulling him closer. Everything was fading away, melting into the embrace as your lips quicken, breath escaping at every opportunity.

Caressing you, his thumb draws slow, comforting circles against your shoulder, one of his large callous hands moving to cup your face delicately, pulling away briefly to rest his forehead against your own. Gazing into your eyes, you’re as entranced in the blue depths beneath his lashes as you had been the first day, the smile stretching across his face an expression of relief and absolute adoration. “Y/N...” he whispers, stroking a lock of your hair away, his hand coming to rest on your burning cheek, “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too” comes the reply, but it is not your voice, rather the sound creeping from the doorway. Peering over your shoulder Ryan’s face drop slightly, flushing in embarrassment as his face twitches apologetically. Turning, you see Jeremy stood in the doorway, his smile as bright as his hair; though it does not reach his eyes. Instead, his arms are crossed, eyes staring blankly at you both before he lifts up his hand; in it your cybernetic leg rattling gleefully. “Really gotta break this up, Ray’s ready to reattach this bad boy”.

“Brilliant” you mumble, a flush rising in your cheeks as you quickly try to gather yourself and manoeuvre back onto the crutches. Jeremy notices your struggles and moves to offer his help, but before he can form the words Ryan has scooped you into his arms, ignoring your halfhearted objections. “Med bay?” he asks, and Jeremy nods, bouncing out the door as Ryan carries you, you eyes drifting closed in content as you curl into his chest.  

 

* * *

 

Ray’s face splits into a beam when Ryan carries you in, laying you gently down on the cold steel table before hiding in the corner, watching you intently with nervousness buried in his shoulders. Jeremy had made it to the room before you had and was in the process of pulling on some sterile gloves as Ray stands, his face apologetic beneath his smile. “This is gonna fucking hurt, man” he warns you as he busies himself with positioning your amputation towards the end of the operating table, strapping your prosthetic to the flesh as you wince. “You ready?” he asks, pulling his tools close, but you take a deep gulp and shake your head, unsure; “Why am I awake for this?”

Ray chews his lip, removing the bandage that encased your leg and you flinch at the sight of it; a small and pained noise escaping Ryan’s lips and huddling in the shadows of the room. “You’ll get some anaesthetic,” he comforts while trying not to react to his churning stomach; “but I’ve gotta make sure all the nerves are connected to the right wires.” 

Ray begins to sterilise the area, gingerly dabbing the blackened and bruised skin, yellows fading up to your thigh and disappearing beneath the shorts you had found yourself wearing after waking up. Nodding, you grit your teeth as he pulls the needle towards you, looking into your eyes; “It’ll be just like last time.” 

“No, not like last time” say a deep, kind voice to the right of you, Ryan coming up to hold your hand firmly, “never again.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You finally find out why you were abandoned under the pile of rubble all those years ago by a crew you’d felt to be your family. 

_‘_ _Sources indicate that the fire was just another addition to their crime spree. The Cinders are known to be wanted in France for the disappearance of numerous priceless artworks from the Louvre, as well as in the United Kingdom due to stint on the crown jewels and the looting of Pompeii’s Roman treasures in Geneva. With only their aliases known to police, the appearance of Ash and Sparks in our city has raised border control concerns; with all routes leaving and entering the city cut off indefinitely. All flights will remain grounded, and our borders are being tightened on the land, air and sea. The Cinders are known to be armed and extremely dangerous. Anyone with information is urged to call Los Santos police on-’_

Ray lets out an audible groan as your pictures flash across the screen, throwing his arms up in the air in irritation before standing to stalk around the space. You don’t move, still leaning your elbows on your knees as you watch the news, relieved to take in the poor and grainy visuals provided. “That’s it” exclaims Ray, pulling his shoulders up in a prolonged and comic shrug; “we can never show our faces again.”   
“Don’t be ridiculous” you shoot back, stretching out your limbs with a sigh before standing and facing your partner.   
“I’m not being ridiculous.”  
“Yes, you are” you say pointing at him; “this is you being ridiculous.”

“You’re being awfully mean to the man that gifted you the ability to walk” he pouts, glaring at you half-heartedly.   
“Har har” you tease, kicking him playfully in the shins, “you’re awfully paranoid for the god of legs.”   
“Is that a sex thing?” asks Jack, craning her head from around the kitchen, peering at the crew as they huddle around the TV in one of the many living spaces. “He wishes!” giggles Michael, sniggering into his hand and Gavin squeals in delight. “I do wish” Ray claims, eyes wide as he considers the possibilities.  
“Well, put it back in your pants and come and get something to eat” jokes Jack as she brings through a stack of steaming pizza boxes, placing them on the bar that stretches across the right side of the room.

On queue your stomach rumbles as your eyes dart to Jeremy, of who is always watching you, inching his way towards the pizza and hoping to get the first pick. “Don’t even try” you threaten, slowly lowering yourself into a braced stance; his lips pressing into a thin line. “Too late!” he cries, running for the bar, but with both legs now fully operational your body launches forward, leapfrogging over his back as you race for the boxes; yelling triumphantly as you swipe the pizza he had reached for and chomp on it in victory.

“That it” he sighs, regaining his balance, “you and that fucking leg are gonna be the death of me.” He snatches at the box you’re holding, but you leap upwards, holding it above your head and jumping into the air with a strong push of your cybernetic attachment. “I’m gonna starve!” he wails, head in his hands as you giggle, continuing to nibble on your slice.   
“It’s pretty impressive” admires Gavin, motioning towards the faint glowing and wires, but you shrug; “eh, keeps me going.”   
“But why did you decide to get it?”

His question shocks you, your mouth freezing as pizza hangs from your lips. Lowering your food, you place it back down, casting a confused glance at Ray whose expression mirrors your own. “I don’t know what you mean”, you admit, head shaking slightly; but Gavin powers on, oblivious to the way the atmosphere was beginning to stick to your lungs. “Like, what went through your heads when you guys decided to go cyber?”   
“I dunno, a fucking wall?”

The room is struck into silence, Gavin’s mouth opening and closing as he struggles to comprehend your words. “Wait” interjects Geoff, holding up his hands and scrunching his face; “you’re gonna have to explain.”   
“I’d rather not...” you begin, but Ray offers you an encouraging smile and a shrug, pushing you forward to continue the retelling. Biting your lip nervously, you shift under their gaze, eyes locking onto Ryan as he watches you closely.

“We woke up after the wall fell” you state, ignoring all of the eyes that burned into your skin, pizza left untouched; “it was three days later, and my leg’s injuries were too far gone.”   
“Three days,” repeats Michael, chewing the words slowly with a perturbed expression; looking to Geoff for assistance.   
“Yeah,” continues Ray, unaware of the rest of the crew who were now shifting uncomfortably at your words; “it had completely died. While trying to escape i’d practically sliced off my fingers, too. We each had to cut our losses in the end.” You stare at Ryan of who now refuses to meet your gaze, rather placing a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder to reach around him and grab a box of pizza; the young man surprisingly comfortable with the contact; “you might want to sit down...”

“Why?” you demand, becoming paranoid, turning to Geoff in the hopes he will offer some answers. Instead he is engrossed in a quiet argument with Jack, her movements erratic and aggressive; “We have to tell them.”  
“No, we don’t” Geoff rejects, his hands dramatically sweeping through the air; “there’s no point if it’s not true.”  
“Of course it’s fucking true, Geoffrey” spits the redhead, unaware of your gaze; “their monitors went off and they’re still standing here.”

“What the fuck is going on?!” demands Ray, his voice breaking and silencing the two bickering leaders; who shuffle their feet uncomfortably. Geoff shoots Jack a look, hoping to convince her not to begin speaking. She ignores him the same as she does each time; instead motioning for Ray and yourself to take your seats. Hesitating, you throw Ryan one last lost glance, though he doesn’t return it, focusing intently on the cracks in the floor. As you lower yourself Jack begins to wring her hands nervously, her eyes worried and apologetic.

“It’s about the night you died” she starts, but Ray cuts her off.   
“We didn’t die!”  
“Please, Ray, just shut up” she sighs, trying to keep the irritation from seeping into her words. You elbow him into submission, but anxiety was already draping itself across your shoulders, freezing against your neck. “The night you died your heart monitors stopped; and I can’t stress to you how certain we were that you guys were gone. At the time, none of us knew that the regeneration process could take that long, so we didn’t know that it was possible for you to come back.” You hold up a hand, her words stopping as she looks at you, obviously struggling.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you ask, meaning for your voice to be confident and authoritative, but it cracks and shudders beneath your confusion.   
“Yeah” continues Ray, his eyes searching the woman before him as his skin pales, “and why aren’t you sharing this drug you’re all on?”   
“We aren’t on drugs Ray” says Michael softly, his hands buried deep into his jeans, shoulders hunched awkwardly. “Sure seems like it” comes Ray’s mumbled reply, his eyes darting to yours before he drops them to his hands.

You stand, clearly frustrated; “look,” you state, “I am exhausted and in a lot of pain. I don’t really think this is a good time to be joking around about our supposed deaths”   
“We aren’t making fun of you” pleads Gavin, but you point a finger accusingly in his direction.   
“Yes, you fucking are. I get you need to justify the fact you left us to die...”  
“We didn’t!” he squeaks, eyes beginning to glisten, but you aren’t listening, now stalking to Ray as he stands up to support you, his arms crossing tightly in front of his chest. “You did!” you seethe, hurling your hands in the air, Ray nodding frantically beside you and agreeing “we were in there for three days!”

“You need your excuse, fine. I get it, you need something to help you get over the fact you didn’t check, but for god sakes do not-” you words are growing louder now, unaware of Ryan who is now moving to stand in front of you, his eyebrows knitting together. “Y/N, slow down; you need to stop” he tries tentatively, but your rage is getting the better of you, Cheshire reveling inside your chest as you push him forcefully away. “Don’t you fucking tell me to calm down, Haywood” you spit, “you might not want to deal with the fact we were abandoned, but don’t tell us we didn’t live it. We did not die!”

“Oh for fuck sakes!” bellows Geoff, his tone making your eye twitch as you try to stand your ground, furious and hurt; “you’re immortal, same as us!” Everything stops moving around you, your body locking up as the words speed through you head; Cheshire’s hissing pausing momentarily before the noise becomes a snarl escaping your lips. “What?” you growl, Ray remaining still by your side, shock nailing his body in place; “how fucking dare you? You need to get it through your thick skulls that: We. Did. Not. DIE”.

Rolling his eyes, Geoff pulls out a gun and points it at Jeremy who begins to protest fearfully before the bullet rips through his heart, lodging itself in the opposing wall as his body crumples. You find yourself unable to contain the screaming as you dive for his body, the angry yelling of the rest of the crew bouncing against your back as you frantically shake him; his name dripping from your lips. Ray joins you in an instant, his knees colliding with the ground as he rolls the body over while his hands beginning to pump against his chest; knuckles turning white from the pressure.

“You have no tact” shoots jack, glaring at Geoff as he slips his weapon away with a frustrated shrug.   
“What the fuck are you doing, Geoff?!” roars Ryan, his voice ringing in your ears as you take over from Ray, thrusting your palms against Jeremy’s still chest.   
“I was proving a point” you hear Geoff exclaim, anger makes your movements clumsy and Ray pushes you aside;   
“By murdering a man in front of someone recovering from torture?!”

You feel your body moving to stand, numbness creeping into your muscles as you stare down at Jeremy, his eyes wide and mouth torn into a gaping cry. Turning slowly, your breathing scrapes across your throat, deep and deliberate as the fire burns in your belly. “You shot Jeremy...” You can see Geoff begins to shift uncomfortably, stumbling over his words as he desperately tries to reassure you that he’ll be fine. But you can’t hear him; instead your lips twitch into a vicious snarl as you start approaching him, anger radiating from you in tumbling waves. You’re losing control, you can feel the Cheshire swelling within you as she begins to play puppeteer with your limbs, balling your hands into fists before you lets out a vicious, terrifying scream. Crouching, you move to launch yourself at a cowering Geoff, but strong arms grip you mid flight, entrapping you before forcing your feet to the ground.

Ryan is in front of you now, blocking Geoff from your line of sight by gripping your shoulders as you shake, though you remain desperate to lash out at something, anything; the rage incurred through their attempts to justify their actions blinding you. “Hey”, his voice is distant as you scowl past him to Geoff, of whose face has grown red, his shoes scuffing against the ground in shame; “hey, look at me.” You force yourself to cooperate, your face jerking to stare at Ryan, his eyes soft and clear as he hunches to level himself with you. “There we are” he says, his voice soothing you, still; the anger flutters inside your chest as it heaves, “keep looking at me, Y/N; it’s okay.” Noticing you calm slightly he begins to smooth your hair comfortingly, “it’s okay.”

Glancing around with erratic eyes you see the rest of the crew staring at the display, the fear you had sparked within them now dampened with sorrow as they watch Ryan try to settle you. Ray is now able to move, Michael and Gavin having shifted to stand either side of him, resting their hands gently on his arms with reassurance in their touch. You return your gaze to Ryan, his expression as soothing as the hand he continues to run across your hair; touching your cheek so delicately it was a whisper. Tears well in your eyes as you watch him, the anger you had been harbouring seeping into his fingertips and being flicked away with his wrist as he continues is motions, muttering words of comfort.

“Don’t fuck with me, Ryan” you manage to choke, voice quiet, yet harsh in the room.   
He smiles sadly, the upturns of his lips assuring; “I’ve never lied to you.” Your head spins as a desperate sound catches in your throat, body shaking and tears threatening to break the barriers you were frantically trying to maintain. “Immortal?” ask Ray, the word sounding wrong as it rolls from his lips, falling flatly at his feet; Michael and Gavin watching it understandingly. “We all are” Gavin says, his voice travelling around Ryan, climbing over his shoulders to perch and star imposingly at you.

“What does that mean?” Ray’s voice is hushed, broken as he tries to force his mind past the confusion building a wall in front of him, locking him behind it. Your eyes stray to Geoff and Jack, their arms looping together, faces mirror images of the mask worn by the rest of your family, the weariness dancing beneath their ribcages. “It means that our bodies live forever” mutters Ryan, his thumbs tracing gentle circles across your flaming cheeks, the fire roaring in your ears; “they can break and die, but they eventually begin to heal themselves.” His eyes move to your leg, pain flitting across his face as he tries to keep your attention from focusing on the burning rushing through the wires, the aching of the concrete ghosting through the panels; “until we’re good as new.”

“But...” you can find the words, feeling yourself begin to collapse beneath the weight of your understanding, unable to drag yourself from the memories drowning you, filling your mouth and lungs. Ryan catches you as you topple to your knees, vaguely away of Ray falling back into his seat, head in his hands. Breathing heavily, your chest begins to constrict, your bones suddenly cages holding back your heart as it tries to break free. “I don’t...” you snatch your body away from Ryan’s grasp, landing with a thud and scampering back until you collide with the wall, eyes wide as you stare at your leg. its light pulses; the intricate designs you had once admired now nothing more than runes left by alien invading you body.

“What have we done?” whispers Ray into his hands, his voice crawling through the fingers and coming to sit on your knee; playing with the lights.

“We could have been human...”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s an agonising cluster fuck of feelings, shock and backstory. Sorry in advance.

“Can we have a minute?” you ask, dragging your eyes from your leg to look up at the rest of the crew, their feet shuffling and eyes unable to meet your own. Ryan stares at you for a moment as you begin to collect yourself, straightening out your spine and scooting over to sit beside Jeremy, flinching as the warmth from his body soaks into the floor. Finally he gives a short nod before standing, beckoning for the others to follow him before casting you a concerned glace with something deeper smouldering beneath his eyes’ blue depths.

Once you had been left alone you feel Ray stumble to your side and collapse to the floor, sitting on his feet while motioning for you to lean into him. You do so gladly and let his familiarity engulf you, your eyes closing as you wish desperately to rewind time and scamper back to the past where it was just the two of you.  To a time where there was no unnecessary pain or suffering, no big unknown to hover over your head, and no Cheshire to be found.

It hadn’t taken you long to realise that without Ryan, the Cheshire had sunk back into the depths she’d clawed from. At first you’d considered that Ray’s generally cool energy had eased the turmoil of emotions that would find her waking and raging; wondering if his calm was simply a form of meditation. It was only after a fight with Ray, where you were both left screaming at one another, that you found yourself shocked by your own control. The Cheshire hadn’t bothered to make her usual appearance, leaving your mind clear.

Ray holds you for what feels like the thousandth time, his heart beat soothing you as you both struggle to comprehend the events of the past hours. Gingerly you pull away and wipe the tears from your face before running a hand through your hair; letting out a noisy breath. “We can’t leave him here,” you say, still disbelieving that you will ever see his bright eyes or exuberant smile again. Ray nods in understanding, following your lead as you reach down to gently wrap your arms around his chest; Ray grabbing his feet as you both supports him. “Let’s hope he didn’t die for realsies,” he gasps as you carry him towards the elevator, heading for the roof.

 

* * *

 

 

“In hindsight,” pants Ray, sweat beading across his forehead, “this was not a smart plan.”  
“It wasn’t even a plan”  
“You aren’t helping”  
“I’m super helpful,” you shoot back, giving him a mocking glare as you drape the soft blanket over Jeremy, tucking it neatly around his shoulders as his body lies motionless on the floor. “He’s dead, Y/N,” smiles Ray, his voice shaking despite the humour he is trying to inject into the situation, “he’s not gonna care about the cold.”

“You’re a real bundle of joy, huh?” you poke him, stepping back and staring down at the man as you hold your arm and lean into Ray.  
“I’m a beautiful ball of self-deprecating sunshine,” he replies, wrapping an arm around you as you both fall into an uncomfortable silence; the elephant in the room bouncing across Jeremy’s still chest. “What if they’re wrong?” he finally mumbles, but you shake your head;   
“what if they’re right?”

You turn to him now, looking at him and unsure how to continue. The gentle rustle of the wind tumbles over the rooftop you stand on, the city lights distant and drowning in the surrounding trees as they whisper to one another; sharing secrets. “We do as we always do,” he tells you with a simple shrug, but the answer isn’t good enough to ease the terror churning in your mind. “This isn’t something we can just joke our way out of.”   
“I know, but it was worth a shot” he admits, scratching his chin and offering you a tired smile.

“This is all...” as you speak you wave your hand around ambiguously, trying to snatch the words out of the air and formulate some form of sentence, “a lot,” you finish lamely. He chuckles, punching your shoulder playfully, “just another day at the office.”   
“except the days never end”  
“now who’s the downer?” you laugh at him as you finally beginning to relax, your body settling into the calm tentatively, like easing into a cool pool on a warm summer’s night. “I’m just trying to figure out what being immortal means,” you admit into the night, your words lingering in the air.   
“It means you don’t die. Jesus, Y/N, were you not paying attention?” He yelps as you jump at him, wrestling him down to the ground in a scuffle and laughing as he tries to gain the upper hand. “No fair!” he cries, giggling as you start tickling, “you’re a better fighter than me, overpowered!”

Kneeling on his chest you flash him a smile, victorious; “you’d hope so, I’ve been doing this since I was 15.”   
“What, bullying people?” he suggests, but you ignore him, taking the night’s sky into your lungs as you breath.  
“Kicking your ass, along with everyone else’s,” you correct, swatting at his hand before standing and hauling him to his feet. “What do we do now?” you ask Ray, words catching on the wind as you both remain quiet and thoughtful for a prolonged moment “I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna go eat some cold pizza.”  
“Gross.”  
“Hey,” he holds up his hands in surrender, backing away and shooting you a cheeky grin, “one thing at a time. Save the monumental existential crisis for a full stomach.”

As he leaves you feel the energy shift, the air becoming gentle as it dances through your hair. You lower yourself to sit beside Jeremy’s body while picking up his hand and turning it in your own, trying to ignore his icy fingers and cool palm. Silently you stare up at the stars, watching the clouds tumble past and hope flicker in the distance as the night swirls above your head.

You don’t know how long you sit there, lost in the world above trying to escape the fire nipping at your heels, but you eventually find yourself utterly calm. In the serenity the drowsiness begins to set in, the weight of the world pulling you back to the realm of the living, cushioning your head as you shuffle and curl into Jeremy’s side; watching the stars until your eyes drift shut.

“It’s like the first time we met,” his voice muses in your ear, dragging you from your dozing slumber into waking; “but with more awkwardness.” You sit up groggily, head spinning as you whip to face him, overjoyed to see his eyes twinkling as a grin decorates his face. With an ecstatic cry you hurl yourself at him, hugging him tightly as you bury you face into his neck and shaking from excitement. He laughs, arms strong around you, “I should die more often if this is the reception I get”  
“don’t get into the habit”  
“yes ma’am.”

With a smile and tears in your eyes you press your forehead to his, for a moment the fire disappearing and leaving your mind quiet. He jumps before letting his eyes drift closed and breathe in your relief, a calm comfort settling over the two of you. “Why do you do this?” he mutters, eyes still closed and a confusion tugging at his lips;  
“do what?”   
He shrugs before flicking his eyes open to look at you as you pull away, returning to staring at the stars; “the forehead thing. I’ve seen you do it with Ray a lot, are you mind melding?”

You laugh, the musical notes joining the glittering stars, “something like that, it’s just a comfort thing.” you struggle, your words becoming distant.  
“Like affection?” he prompts, scooting over to sit closer to you, his arm grazing your own, “did we just have a bonding moment?” You don’t respond, rather leaning forward and resting your forearms against your knees. “It helps with the worry and eases negative emotions” you tell him.

“So you just bonded with me?”   
“don’t make it weird”  
“how do I not make it weird?” you let out a noisy sigh, resting your temple against his shoulder. “By not talking,” you joke, eyes closing as the tiredness begins to creep over you again. Jeremy’s steady movements are soothing, your head bobbing with each of his inhales and exhales.

“I never thanked you for coming back for me,” you whisper to him, your leg searing agonisingly as you remember the nails adorning your skin and the aching of your tattered flesh. “What are friends for?” he replies with a smirk, draping an arm across your shoulders happily.   
“I’m serious,” you push, “after how I treated you...”  
“One bad date,” he jokes while waving your words away, “and you think I’d just leave you to die?”

You want to laugh with him, but can’t shake the question nagging against your tongue. Playing with your fingers you stare into his eyes, seeing his smile. “How did you find out?” you ask finally, his smile faltering a fraction before returning, as joyful as ever;  
“that I couldn’t die?”   
“yeah”  
“It’s a long story”  
“I’ve got time,” you tell him as the night growing colder, causing you to shudder. Taking notice Jeremy tosses the blanket over both of you, huddling together for warmth.

He takes a deep and shaky breath, fixating his eyes on the trees in the distance as he hurtles back in time to relive the fear, pain and confusion he had buried so long ago. “There was this girl,” he starts his voice faint “and things were going pretty steady. We’d been together maybe, I don’t know, two years or so. I had a solid job that paid for our shared apartment; we had it made.” You can’t help but imagine the Jeremy you knew, younger and full of hope working a nine-til-five job. It seemed too domestic, the two realities mismatched and implausible.

“I wish you could have seen it, Y/N,” he breathes, smiling down at you while reminiscing with his eyes bittersweet, “we had this little porch and she would paint out there; the white panels were always a mess.” Splatters of blue and yellow flash across your mind, you imagination creating a laughing and bubbly woman covered in colour; as bright and joyful as Jeremy must have been. “I was going to spend the rest of my life with her,” he chokes, snapping your attention suddenly to the tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. Hushing him you pull him into your lap as he sniffles, trying not to let his emotions get the better of him. He shudders under your touch as you gently rub his arm, hoping for comfort.

“She’d been having some trouble,” he continues, tears falling freely now; “I would start coming home later, sometimes I wouldn’t step through the front door until midnight.” You don’t cease your movements, holding him close as he relives the nightmare you had forced him into, guilt welling in your stomach. “I was trying to earn some extra money on the side, I’d already put a deposit on the ring. It was supposed to be one of the happiest moments of our lives.” He flinches into you as the breeze claws at his exposes skin and you reposition the blanket, trying to shield away his pain.

“That night I’d managed to get the final payment sorted, I was so excited. I got to pick it up in the morning; it was a big fuck off diamond, with these teeny tiny little flowers.” You can imagine a young Jeremy bouncing into a jewellers and bounding out with and empty wallet and full heart. “I got home late again, and she was so angry. I’d forgotten that we were supposed to have dinner with her parents. I’d never seen her so upset before.” His words are coming faster now as he stumbles to get them out between the sobs threatening to dissolve him into a broken mess. “I tried to calm her down, but she just wouldn’t. She was screaming, Y/N.”

He chokes around the tears, his face screwed up as he buries his head into your stomach and wails, unable to hold it anymore. His shoulders shake as each cry tore through his chest and landed heavily in your lap. “Oh Jeremy...” you whisper, cuddling into him and letting him tremble beneath you as you curl around his body to try to ease the sobbing. You stay like that as he regains some form of composure, his hands muffling his words by blocking his mouth.

“She just screamed and screamed. I didn’t see her grab the kitchen knife until she’d stabbed it into my chest. She couldn’t stop, I tried so hard to calm her down but after the fifth blow; I just remember falling to my knees.” You don’t want to imagine it but you can’t avoid the small shrouded living space that your mind drags up. The lady still covered in paint on top of Jeremy, the knife spraying his blood like a paintbrush across the white walls. “I woke up in the morgue a few hours later,” he tells you, his sobs subsiding; “scared the mortician half to death. She was on the other table... she’d shot herself right after; or at least that’s what the reports said.”

“I’m so sorry Jeremy...” you manage, knowing your words would do nothing to comfort the man in your lap, but he shakes his head, a small smile mixing with the remnants of his tears; “no, thank you, Y/N. I’ve never talked about it before... I think it helped?”   
“You’re fucking weird, anyone ever told you that?” you tell him, trying to lighten the mood, causing him to chuckle.

A flurry of movement and yelling begins to emanate from behind the door to the roof, panic rising to greet you as Michael burst through its entrance, his face paled and hair a mess from being torn from sleep. “We need you guys, Ray’s... err...” his words falter as he looks desperately at Jeremy who is immediately on his feet and moving towards Michael without a word. “It’s bad” you hear Michael tell him before racing back down the stairs, Jeremy following suit before turning to you; “Ray’s decided to test the immortal theory.”

You give him an understanding nod but when you stand you do not join him by the door, rather wandering over to the edge of the roof; inhaling deeply. “Y/N, seriously,” he calls to you, beginning to worry as you do not face him. You hear his feet scuff against the ground as he approaches, “Ray is going to need you.” You turn your head to face him, a smile settling onto your face as the possibilities stretch out in front of you. He seems less eager, eyes frantically pleading for you to step away from the edge, his usual bounce now flattened and deflated.

“When you see him, let him know he’s a dick for starting without me”  
“what are you talking about, Y/N?”   
“It’s a win-win situation” you tell him, the words drifting on the wind as you tear your eyes away from Jeremy, who is now trying to inch closer carefully, as so to not startle you. “If you’re right, I’ll be okay,” you continue, more to convince yourself that to explain your process; “if not, I’ll finally be able to find some peace and quiet.” You shift your weight and your toes curl over the ledge as you peer down into the darkness, the grassy hills swirling and the wind shivering through the foliage in anticipation.

“Catch ya later, J”   
“Y/N, no!” he yells, snatching at you; but it’s too late. You’ve already taken the fatal step out into the nothingness; the air caressing you hands as you plummet towards the ground, closing your eyes and smiling.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I run a daycare centre" - Geoff Ramsey probably.

The light burning your retinas through your closed eyelids causes you to grimace, a groan escaping your lips. Peeling them open, you are met by the far too familiar sight of the medical bay’s ceiling, the cracks smiling at you. Pulling yourself up you rub the back of your head, looking across to Ray as he shovels cold pizza into his mouth, legs crossed and eyes bruised.

“Well,” you croak, wincing at the throbbing in your head, “that was convenient.”  
“That was bullshit” he corrects you, mouth full. You roll your eyes at him and hold a hand out for him to pass you a slice. Taking it, you notice Ryan leaning against the wall, his face warm and open as he smiles at you, walking up to sit on the end of your bed and rest his hand on your knee.

“I can’t believe you jumped off the roof,” Ray grumbles, glaring at you as you provide him a shrug in response; “I literally just fixed that leg.”  
“I was careful.”  
“You threw yourself off a building.”  
“Carefully.”  
“You fucking died.”  
“Ok, now you’re being judgemental,” you state, rolling your eyes and beginning to nibble on your pizza slice, face crinkling as you look at it before gingerly picking the mushrooms off and flinging them at Ray. “This is fucking gross. How can anyone like pepperoni and mushroom?”  
“How can anyone like your face?” he retorts cleverly as Ryan chuckles, the bed reverberating beneath him.   
“You get used to it,” he mumbles and you kick him.

“What I don’t understand,” comes Jeremy’s voice, irritated and reproachful, “is how you are all okay with the fact you just tried to kill yourselves.” You look at him slightly ashamed as Ryan steals your pizza and begins to remove the mushrooms, eating them as he watches the smaller man with a cool smile and a noncommittal shrug. “It was going to happen eventually,” you remind him softly, remembering your time on the rooftop as a blush blooms across your cheeks.

“That’s not the point,” he snaps, his tone shocking you and your jaw setting defensively; “you didn’t know if it was going to work. You could have ended up killing yourself.”  
“Yeah, for realsies,” mumbles Ray around his mouthful of pizza, trying to take the slice Ryan had handed back to you, mushroom free. You watch Jeremy hum in frustration, “what if you’d died?” You think for a moment, trying to find an answer to both be satisfying and truthful. As if sensing your struggle, Ryan holds out his hands to Jeremy, aiming for protective reasoning.

“By doing this now,” he says, attempting to level with the angry man in front of him; “we know for sure. It’s a damn lot better than putting them in a risky situation and finding out the hard way.” You’re following his line of thought, thankful that he is able to justify your actions. You try to ignore the guilt swirling in your stomach, not wanted to address the fact that you hadn’t been entirely certain in the first place; burying it beneath the remaining pizza you’d wrestled from Ray.

“So you’d be cool with her dying now, rather than later?” Jeremy’s words cut through the room before he realises he’s spoken, his eyes growing wide in shock as they burrow into Ryan. “No, Ryan I didn’t mean it like that, I just...” he flails, stumbling over his stammering words as Ryan stands to approach him. His body language seems calm and collected, but you know from the set of his shoulders that he is trying his hardest to remain civil; despite the polite smile on his face.

“I’ve lived three years thinking she was dead, Jeremy, and I can’t count the amount of times I’ve attempted what she did last night. So I know,” he places a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder as the man squeaks, drawing you to your feet; “that you definitely wouldn’t be insinuating that you care more about someone – of who you met 3 weeks ago – than I do after knowing Y/N for 11 years.”   
“Drop it” you order quietly, touching Ryan’s elbow as he cracks another smile, replying through his teeth; “Everything’s fine, Y/N.”   
“Skullface, back off” you demand under your breath, your grip tightening and eyes flashing up to the Vagabond as he flits across Ryan, resisting at first before ebbing away.

Letting out a noisy sigh Ryan lets go of Jeremy, his face equally as apologetic as the man in front of him. “Sorry,” he says sincerely, shuffling his feet as his cheeks flush a delicate pink; “I’m not very good with emotions or, err, self control right now.” Jeremy shrugs off his worry, beaming up at Ryan,  
“I was a bit of a dick.”  
“A bit of a dick?”  
“That’s all you’re getting from me.”  
“Guess I’ll take it,” Ryan jokes, smiling warmly again as the two men embrace and forgive one another. You’re surprised at the speed in which the situation diffused, as usually Vagabond encounters would last far longer. Your shock grows into astonishment as Jeremy leaps upwards and drags Ryan’s head down, chuckling while messing up his hair and cheering “battle buddies for life!”

“What the fuck did I just watch?” demands Ray quietly to you, his eyes wide and confused. You just shake your head slowly at him, equally as bewildered as you watch the two men laugh with one another, “just don’t question it, I don’t want anyone to lose an eye or something when a fight breaks out”.   
“But what’s a battle buddy?”  
“It’s our team name,” Ryan replies with a smile, draping an arm around the smaller man and leaning against him, raising an eyebrow at you with a smirk on his face.   
“You guys are gay?”  
“NO RAY,” Ryan hangs his head in exasperation, Jeremy patting him understandingly on the shoulder. “We’re the interrogation team,” Jeremy informs, his chest puffing out proudly.   
“Wait” you hold up a finger, standing and placing your hands on your hips to look at the two as they continue to grin while you survey them suspiciously.

“Oh seriously,” you exclaim in mock astonishment “you’re gonna replace me too?!” Ryan smiles at you sheepishly and rolls his eyes, laughing as your mouth continues to hang open. “I mean-“  
“First Geoff brings this bright colour monstrosity in to fill the void, and now you’ve got a new interrogation buddy?” shaking your head you cross your arms over you chest while struggling to keep the smile from creeping across your face. Ryan rolls his weight, leaning against the wall and mirroring your stance, his strong arms flexing and muscles defined as his smirks. Jeremy stands beside him looking pleased, his chest still puffed out with a beaming grin plastered to his face. Holding out his hand Ryan waves away your words in disinterest, offering you a shrug “just gotta move with the times”.   
“Oooh,” you waggle a finger in his direction whilst Ray begins to laugh, opening his arms wide in defeat; “He got you good, you’re welcome to join me over here in the loser pile.”  
“He’s just fucking murdered me,” you joke as Ray pulls out his phone, jabbing it in your direction “please,” he begs sarcastically “Do you need me to call you an ambulance after that sick burn?”

“No one’s dead, and no one’s going to be  _dying_ again anytime soon,” snaps a tired voice from the doorway, Geoff leaning in and peering at you with exhausted eyes. His moustache frizzes as he talks, the creases on his forehead constantly wrinkled in concern. “I hope you’ve all gotten it out of your systems, because these,” he points to a greying area of his hair, tracing either side of his head like racing stripes, “are your fault”.  A chorus of  _‘sorry Geoff’_  follows, each of you tuneful in your apology as Geoff waves his fingers, conducting with a serious face.

“Good,” he states with a confirming nod, “now get your asses in gear. Meeting in 20 in the heist room.”

 

* * *

 

Entering the room you see that the large space is already packed, the table cluttered with the bodies of the crew, their voices yelling over one another about nothing in particular. Spotting some empty seats, you manage to wade your way through the gaggle, Ryan clinging to the bottom of your shirt as you lead the way, Jeremy and Ray struggling to clamber over Gavin as he giggles on the floor. Michael stands above Gavin screaming, trying to control the smile twitching on his livid face.

“Man down, man down!” cries Ray as Gavin wraps his arms around his legs, pulling him down to the floor while Jeremy frantically tries to yank him free.  
“Go on without us!” he states heroically, Ray’s stumbling causing both men to crash to the ground and lie on top of Gavin, who is now flailing indiscriminately. Michael’s head shakes in his hands, the giggles dripping through his fingers.  
“We’ll never make it!”   
“We’ll always remember you!” replies Ryan while holding his hand out to them, his face pained as you continue to struggle forward and towards Geoff; of who is watching the chaos inside of his heist room with both amusement and absolute irritation.

“I’m the most feared crime boss in all of Los Santos,” he says to Jack, his face overwhelmed as his wide eyes leave the wrestling Gavin, Jeremy and Ray, their yelling bouncing off the ceiling, “and now I run a day care centre.” Jack laughs, her face growing as red as her hair as she giggles at Geoff, reaching out to pat his hand as he lets his forehead drop to the table, a throaty groan rattling against the red polished wood.  

Sitting beside Jack, Ryan settles at your side; your arms brushing against one another around the crowded table. Peering across, you could see unfamiliar faces trying desperately not to draw your attention, throwing awed glances in your direction as you lean into Ryan. “Who are they?” you ask, speaking louder than you would have liked to be heard above the scuffle, the lads now trying to hold Gavin down as Michael joins in the fray; “Oh, them?” Ryan jabs a thumb to the thin blond haired man with deep warm eyes, and to the man on his right with long hair cutting off at his shoulders, the tips laced pink. “That’s two thirds of the stream team.”

“Why do they call themselves the stream team?” you question, the blond across the table perking up and yelling across to you,   
“cus we streamline this business!” the man next to him cheers, but Ryan is rolling his eyes.   
“I thought it was because you stream video games online?” Ray barks out an awkward laugh at Ryan’s retort, managing to dislodge himself from the pile of lads and coming up behind you, panting slightly. “You’re fucking kidding me?” you giggle to Ryan, whose face has lit up as the men across the table blanch at him, face accusing and comical. “Yeah, what a bunch of losers,” quips Ray, hands on his knees and breathing deeply.

“Shut up, Brownman!” hurls the blond, his shoulders rising as he holds out his hands for emphasis, but Ray retaliated with a weak and uncomfortable stumble over his response, “buy my merch at brownman.fanfiber.com.”  
“Sell out”  
“Gotta get that green... and by green I mean 420juzblz” he replies with a high pitched voice and a shrug, settling into the empty seat besides Ryan and looking smug as Jeremy shuffles into the space between the stream team; his face flushed as he sits. “You don’t actually know how to smoke weed,” you point out to Ray, peering around Ryan and leaning an arm on the table to get a better view of him, his face falling in mock confusion. “Wait, you smoke it?” Ryan’s deep laughter vibrates against your skin as Ray pretends to be genuinely offended and a little concerned.

“Can we all sit down please? Do I have to child proof this room?” demands Geoff, head in his hands, tattooed fingers a visual representation of the pain tracing across his forehead. Quickly the room dissolves into silence, all attention facing Geoff as he stands, slightly stumbling over his chair with a huff. He shoots Jack a look as she sniggers, trying desperately to hide her amusement. “I will not hesitate to fire you.”  
“Do it,” she dares, pointing a finger and eyes narrowing, her smile keeping her words light “but don’t come complaining when you forget to feed yourself.”   
“You’re lucky I love you,” he glares as she sits back victoriously, crossing her arms with a grin, “I wouldn’t use the word lucky.”

“ANYWAY,” says Geoff loudly, trying to remain in control of the room as everyone smirks at one another; “we’ve got a plan to catch the fucker that’s been causing us so much trouble and, you know, just being an all round dick.” Resting his forearms across the table Jeremy’s eyes flash dangerously, a grin crawling across his face, “what are we doing Geoff?”   
“You just wait Jeremy, it’s gonna be a doosey.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plan’s coming together, and you’re gonna take that son of a bitch down as soon as the surveillance operations become obsolete.

Geoff’s finger jabs at the map plastered to the cork board behind him, the wall scattered with photos, pins and different coloured string as well as numbers and receipts. There was even a small sketch done by who you can only assume to be Jeremy, based upon the illustration of Gareth and the small orange and purple figure throttling him. “This,” starts Geoff, turning to circle the location he was indicating to with red texter “is the last place we had tabs on the fucker.”

The room has settled now, the jokes and cheery attitudes having faded into the floor as the severity of the situation glares at them from Geoff’s workings. You tried to ignore the glances you were getting from the members at the table, certain both Jeremy and Ray were attempting to do the same. The thought of him tied your stomach in knots, anger lapping at your shoulders and caressing the fists you had found your hands balled into; nails digging into your palms as you rest them on the tops of your thighs under the table.

Geoff continues to talk, his words forcing their way through the water that was clogging your mind, distant and strained as he circles other areas of the map. The place you were held, what appears to be his favourite coffee shop, his house, his daughter’s apartment and finally his general – and more importantly traceable - movements. You nod numbly, focusing on the pain in your palms to keep yourself grounded, the Cheshire beginning to stretch out from the ball she had curled into within your chest, burning with rage. Ryan’s hand makes it way under the table to your fist, gently unfurling in and holding it tightly in his own, giving a subtle and comforting squeeze without looking at you.

Thankful for the contact the water begins to rush from your mind, the room clearing and voices now crisp and audible. “We’ve managed to isolate a few men that we believe to be close to him,” Geoff says, slapping three photographs up on the board, their faces staring furiously at you from inside their mug shots. “Now, we don’t know much about them other than their names, and now this is Jack’s bit so i’m done,” he admits as he starts to pace before motioning to Jack, of who stands and takes over, tossing a pile of stapled assignment papers into the centre of the table.

Crawling across it, Ray slides onto his belly to reach for the pile among the flurry of hands that do the same, pulling three towards him and handing them out to you. With your free hand you thumb through the pages, stopping on the second photo of the men Geoff had mentioned as being of interest, leg stinging. His dishwasher water eyes stare back at you, set deep within his pink, square face as he scowls at the camera.

You can’t hear Jack’s voice anymore as she gives Intel on the other men, the room spinning while you as you glare down at the page, your grip beginning to crumple the paper as anger throbs around you. Taking notice Ryan subtly takes the booklet from you, removing the page ahead of folding it and sliding it to Ray, of who stuffs it quickly into his purple hoodie. You lay your hand flat on the assignment, trying to calm yourself as Ryan starts to rub his thumb across your own, urging you gently to breath.

“An then we’ve got Garry Booker,” Jack’s words come crashing through the wall you had found yourself behind, your body immediately tensing at the name, Jeremy flashing you a concerned look from across the table. “I knew he was a Garry,” you spit, words harsh as your jaw sets defensively, Jack patiently giving you a quizzical look;   
“you know him?”   
“Know him?” you bark, feeling your face grow bitter, the fire crackling inside of your leg, “he’s the asshole that drove nails through my leg.” Your accusation falls with a thud onto the table, causing the rest of the crew to squirm. Jack, however, nods in understanding, smiling apologetically at you.

“In that case,” she says, leaning over her notebook and adding some scribbles, “I want Jeremy and Ryan to keep away from this mission.” Ryan is defensive beside you now, offended as he demands why, only to be met with a shrug from Jack. “Too personal” she tells him, but he doesn’t drop it,   
“then how come Ray’s still allowed on it?!”

“Because he literally gives no shits.”   
“It’s true, I haven’t been in days.”  
“Ray.”  
“I’m dead inside.”  
“RAY.”

“It’s a serious problem,” he mumbles, sinking back into his seat as the stream team guffaws, Jeremy banging the table as tears well in his eyes, unable to contain his laughter. “Well, don’t be dead on the outside,” you tell Ray with a smile, but he glares at you, lips curling for comedic relief,   
“don’t tell me to  _live my life_.” You drop your head to the table, resting it against the wood as it shakes, Jeremy still smashing his fist into it, the exuberant man now a pile of uncontrollable giggles. “I fucking hate you,” you groan, Ryan tentatively patting you on the back while giving Ray an encouraging grin;  
“that’s the spirit.”

“I fucking hate all of you,” sighs Geoff, trying to steer the room back to the briefing, Jack’s head in her hand.   
“Okay, so,” she says loudly, waving her notebook around, drawing back everyone’s attention, “teams and roles, remember this cus I’m not telling you assholes again.” Ryan slinks in his seat as he stretches his free arm above his head and rests it behind his head, clearly irritated. You couldn’t blame Jack for making such a split decision, knowing full well the destruction that could have occurred if the Vagabond had come face to face with any of the men that had tortured his family. Still, you did feel slightly sorry for him knowing he would ghost around the base, lost with nothing to do.

“As usual,” Jack points to the stream team across from you, who wave from their seats, “We’ve got Trevor and Matt on surveillance. They’ll be able to monitor all of their accounts, online activities, contents-“   
“Err... not entirely,” interjects Trevor, flinching slightly and the 6 foot woman gives him an irritated look.   
“What he means,” finishes Matt, jumping in to divert the anger, “is that metadata doesn’t work like that. You can’t just see someone’s emails. I mean, sure, we can track the GPS signals, cell tower hits, their friends, their friend’s friends, all of their contacts, the type of...” he trails off as Geoff clears his throat, urging him to get to the point.

“I’m saying that we can’t see what he says, but we’ll have all the other information needed to know if something suspicious is going on, and decode the content where required.”   
“You interrupted me to say something I already knew?”  
“Yes, that is exactly what we did,” admits Matt sheepishly, his face turning the same colour of the wisps in his hair, Trevor concluding their point;   
“we needed to establish that we know how security works.”

You throw them a thumbs up, easing the fear they felt towards you into something that resembled apprehensiveness. “Alright so Trevor and Matt are on surveillance; but none of that movie bullshit. That’s very important. Ray, I want you to help them out,” Jack points to him without looking up to see Ray wiggling his cybernetic fingers teasingly at Matt and Trevor, their eyes wide and in awe of the lights flashing from his finger tips. “You’ll be able help out with hacking and diagnoses as needed.”   
“Nah, i’m not a doctor,” he jokes, an expectant grin on his face while he waits for your giggling to subside. Jack, however, tries hard not to acknowledge him of which prompts the rushed explanation in a higher pitch, “you know, cus hacking is like coughing, which you should probably go to the doctors for, and-” Jack finally glares at him, her lips a thin line as Ray sinks into his chair until his chin is level with the table. 

“No one understands me.”  
“No one wants to.”

Jack returns her gaze to the notebook, crossing off the names as she works her way through. “Nice Dynamite,” she jabs a pen in the direction of Michael and Gavin, both of whose faces are serious and menacing, “You guys will be tailing 1 and 3.” They nod in unison, sharing a mischievous look with their eyebrows raised. Ignoring them, Jack forges onwards, now pointing to Geoff, who looks at her with immense admiration and respect, “Team OG, we’re gonna keep an eye on the Garry guy, he seems like he might be the most promising target to get in contact with Gareth.”   
Geoff cracks his knuckles with a lopsided smirk, crossing his legs; “No problems here.”

“I want him after your done” you order, your voice icy and malicious, Ryan nodding in agreement besides you as Ray mutters a  _‘hell yeah’_  from your side. Jack fixates on your face, taking in the smoothness of your features, the angle of your eyebrows and the flatness of your eyes as they blacken before turning to Geoff. The tattooed man shrugs, “seems like a fair request,” shooting you an approving smile, “it’s only right”.   
“Can I get in on that?” pipes up Jeremy after a moment, his eyes eager as you affirm his request.

Placing the notebook down, Jack rests her hands on the table, leaning into her words “Lindsay and Meg have ended their trip early to come and help us out,” she says, Michael and Gavin growing incredibly interested and hopeful. “They’ll be here in the next few hours to be briefed. We’re gonna have Team Free Willy on Gareth.”   
“When did you say they’d be here?” squeaks Gavin, slowly beginning to stand up from his seat, Michael close behind him.  
“The plane gets in at 11, they should be here relatively soon if everything goes to plan,” Jack explains, narrowing her eyes as the two men start to inch their way to the exit, spluttering their excuses.

“We’re just gonna go and, err,”  
“You know, make sure the rooms are, well-”  
“-and we’ve gotta change the...”  
“I mean, it would be rude not to,”  
“I don’t wanna be rude.”  
“me neither, boi.”  
Everyone laughs as they watch the two men scamper over each other and out the door, their excited yelling echoing down the halls as they race to clean up before the women arrive.

Sighing, Ryan leans into you dramatically as all eyes shift to him in surprise; none having realised it was Ryan at the table and not the Vagabond. Clutching one hand to his chest and waving the other after the two men, he smiles and sighs again, “young love.”  
“Gross” you crinkle your nose and bump him away playfully, his face beaming. Jeremy pulls himself onto this chair, cupping his hands around his mouth before taking a deep breath and hollering “get a room!”

Shooting him a look, you swiftly pull a stress ball from one of the shelves behind you and hurl it at the young man, Jeremy wobbling as he loses his balance and topples to the ground. “Ten points!” cheers Ray climbing on his own chair, Ryan clapping loudly beside you. The rest of the crew slowly becomes comfortable with the personality shift, sharing relived glances as they join in the mass of noise now taking over the room. Rolling her eyes, Jack moves to stand behind Geoff and rests her chin on top of his head, her arms draping over his shoulders as she complains. 

“You’re right” she tells him, his moustache twitching into a smiling response, “it’s a zoo”. Geoff laughs in waves, his voice brightening the room as he slowly turns red, “we run a fucking zoo.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hot and Steamy Smut

The briefing had drawn to a messy close, dissolving into the chatter it had started with as you quietly excuse yourself and wrestle towards the door, escaping into the hallway. Relief washes over you as to exit, the stifling heat that had begun to take hold in the cluttered room now washing away with the cool air lapping at your exposed skin. Outside the world falls quiet, a smile creeping onto your lips as you take it all in. The chaos fades away as you put one foot in front of the other and make your way towards the sleeping quarters, a phantom tracing a path it had haunted for far too long.

It is only when you reach your old studio that you stop short, realising that anything could be waiting for you behind the door. It had been three years since the tiny apartment had housed you, and as your fingers curl around the doorknob you gingerly make your way inside, a gasp escaping your lips as you step inside. Everything is as you’d left it, your bed made meticulously and shelves crammed with crime books, the titles blaring out their stories as it all comes flooding back to you.

Kicking off your boots, you can’t tear your eyes away from the space as your toes hit the soft rug you had thrown across the wooden floors so many years ago. The L shaped couch cuts the room with greys and pastels, littered with scatter cushions and sectioning off the small kitchenette, your favourite mug sitting happily on the counter. Moving further into the room you don’t acknowledge the desk you know to be decorated with organised stationary and open mission files, all neatly stacked beside your laptop covered in stickers, courteously provided by Ray.

Instead you move seamlessly towards your bedside table, body cold as you reach out to touch the small bear that had once perched atop the memorial, a heart adorned to its foot and your[ engagement ring](https://img0.etsystatic.com/111/0/12021785/il_340x270.897371540_8xli.jpg) hanging around its neck. At the sight of it you shudder and gently pluck the ring from the plush to hold it between your fingers, mesmerised by the way the light shatters through the clusters of diamonds. Elegant enough to help you realise your inner childhood princess and practical enough not to get in the way when you break a man’s jaw; you slip it onto your finger where it sits snug against your skin.

In a daze you wander to the bathroom, stripping off your shirt as you go and tossing it towards the laundry basket that hadn’t moved an inch in three years, quickly slipping out of your jeans to dump them in afterwards. Coming to stand in front of the mirror you stare at your bruised and broken body; unable to muster the surprise or anger that you should be experiencing. Your eyes trace the large, splitting scars across your legs and chest, stark and bright against the deeper bruises that dust blues, greens and purples across the underside of your breasts. In your reflection there is no escape from the panels, windows and wires that form your lower left leg, the gentle glowing illuminating your skin against the darkened and etched surface. The knee joint bends as you move, flashing the screws holding it in place; the action shifting beneath the windows as your artificial muscles and tendons flex and pump.

Steam fills the bathroom soon after, shielding your body from the prying eyes of the mirror as you step into the gushing water; letting it sting at your skin and force burning heat into your shoulder blades. Lifting up your arms your body grows more comfortable submersed in the scolding stream, eyes squeezing shut as you let the water flow over your face. With each passing minute your body begins to unlock, shedding the tenseness each muscle had dressed itself in; lips parting as you life slips to your feet and washes down the drain.

You don’t know how long you stand there feeling the release, unsure as to when you’d begun to cry, body rattling with each sob that tears its way through your chest. Alone your body shakes beneath the calm swirl of steam, body sinking to the ground as you pull your knees to your chest and stare across floor scattered with stones. You barely here the tentative knock on the door beneath your wailing, head now in your hands as everything presses on the cracks of your mind, breaking you.

“Y/N?” His voice drifts to you in the steam like a lighthouse beam on a foggy night at sea, giving you a direction to escape the raging ocean that smashes against your lungs, the promise of safety and home driving you forward. “Ryan?” you choke, hearing him as he slides his back down against the door with a deep and saddened sigh.   
“I heard you crying,” he admits, voice mingling with the water rushing against your skin, “I know I shouldn’t have let myself in, but I just...” He trails off, emotion forcing his voice into submission as you each sit silently.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally as you run out of tears and let the water continue to cry for you, “I’m so sorry for everything.”   
“that’s a broad spectrum,” you joke weakly, hearing him chuckle behind the door. You begin to stand, listening attentively to his words, aching at the familiarity of his voice.   
“It can’t be easy for you,” he continues gently, “it’s been a rough couple of years.”   
At this you laugh, throat clogged and sore from the tears that had ravaged it, “I could say the same for you.”

“I missed you more than I ever thought possible,” he manages while you carefully make your way over to the door, “when I saw you again, I thought somehow I’d finally died.” You bite your lip and wring your hands at his words, heart breaking as he speaks, “you know how pissed I would have been if I’d found out you’d died?”   
“That’s kinda contradictory, you know,” he reminds you, your delicate laugh seeping through the wooden door and into his shoulders, relaxing them.

“I guess I should be the one apologising,” you tease lightly into the steam as it curls and hugs your body.  
“Nah, you can keep your apology,” he replies, “but I would like you to consider doing me a favour.”  
“Oh?” your eyebrow rises slightly as he begins to struggle, his awkwardness pooling under the door. “Promise me something?” his words are broken now, vulnerable, “promise me that we’ll stick together. I don’t care if it’s just as team mates; I don’t give a damn if it means we’re right back to the ways of the old days. I just,” his voice cracks, “I can’t lose you again.”

Decisively you open the door, steam rolling in waves to escape the room in which it had been entrapped, falling across Ryan’s shoulders as he scampers to his feet, staring into your eyes. With a deep, calming breath you offer him your hand and envelope him in your arms. For a moment you stay with your ear against his chest, your hair dampening his shirt as he presses his lips to your forehead, letting him hold you.

Tilting your head up you coil your arms around his neck, pulling yourself upwards to press your lips to his in a lingering kiss as his arms support your weight and hold you close. You shudder beneath Ryan’s gentle touch as he deepens the kiss, lips growing hungrier as you lace your fingers into his hair. With a smooth movement Ryan’s hands move to your thighs, lifting you with ease and propping you on top of the counter. With a slight gasp you let him move you without question, your fingers snapping the tie that holds his hair in a pony tail, his sandy locks tumbling around his shoulders and pooling into your hands.

Tugging at his shirt he quickly peels it away before returning to you, caressing your face as you expertly work at his jeans; pleased as they drop to the floor with a satisfying thud. Detaching yourself from him you carefully slip down from the counter, leaving his confused gaze to bounce against your back as you step into the rushing streams of water, beckoning him after you. It doesn’t take him long to strip off the rest of his clothes and join you, pressing himself into your back as he traces the scars across your shoulders with delicate kisses.

You let him kiss your body as he whispers sweet nothings to every blemish scattered against your skin, incredibly gentle as his fingers glide from your legs and up to your breasts; cupping them and rubbing his thumb across your sensitive nipples. A soft moan escapes your lips as you twist in his arms, pulling him down so that you can kiss him again, your tongues dancing carelessly together as he pushes you up against the wall, his knee moving between your legs as support.

Ryan begins to run a line of kisses along you jaw, working his way across your neck before drawing your nipple between his lips. Moaning louder you snatch at his hair, forcing him against you as you rock, head thrown back in pleasure. His lips return far more demanding, rough against your own as he presses into you, the tiled walls sticking to your skin. Parting your legs he gently begins working small, rhythmic circles against your clit, swallowing your moans and slipping his finger inside of you with ease.

You hear yourself whimpering his name and begging for more, the water now running cold against your burning skin as he works another finger inside of you, pressing his erection against your thigh. “Oh fuck...” you manage through your desperate breaths, the warm throbbing inside your lower abdomen beginning to pulsate and tingle with each of his movements. Smirking he scoops you up, his hands on your back and cupping your ass while your legs lock around his waist.

His hair is saturated and clinging to the angles of his face as he stares lovingly into your eyes, his own as clear as a tropical ocean lapping at the crisp, white sand. Gradually he lowers you onto him and causes your breath hitching into a moan as he fills you, foreheads pressing together as you peer at him through your lashes; astounded by his beauty. The lopsided smile you had gone years without leaves you stunned and gasping as he begins to trust into you, slow and measured to savour the moment.

Your moans are overlayed by his own as you both intertwine, pulling him close and resting your cheek on top of his head as his presses to your chest; each movement gentle and adoring. With great care you lean to turn off the shower, the water now icy and stinging against your heated bodies. Taking the hint, Ryan repositions and carries you to the bed, dropping you into a pile of cushions before crawling on top of you, lips lingering on your own.

Pushing against his shoulder you flip him under you, straddling him and dragging your nails down his chest, smirking as he shivers beneath your touch. He stretches out a hand and cups your cheek, his lips parting as you nuzzle into his palm with a smile; before leading your lips back to his. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers into your mouth as you kiss him feverishly, hand reaching underneath you to guide him. He lets out a loud moan and throws his head back as his hands come to rest on your hips while you roll them, slow and steady. His back arches with each of your thrusts, his shoulders burying deeper into the bed, Ryan’s eyes closing as he chews on his bottom lip.

Your pace quickens as he begins to move you, his large hands steering your body to match his upwards thrusts, your name tumbling from his lips in a whimper. You can feel yourself building, your movements becoming clumsy as Ryan takes over, flipping you over and onto your back. A surprised gasp escapes you lips as he lifts your legs into the air before resting them on his shoulders as he enters you again; aching with pleasure as he pushes deeper inside of you.

His eyes are intent as he looks at you now, your gentle moans of pleasure now ramping up to become audible begs for him to keep going. With one final thrust you feel yourself shudder as pleasure chases through your body, spasming around him as he groans in release, face contorting in satisfaction. Tactfully he removes himself from you, quickly darting into the bathroom to retrieve a towel and stuff it beneath your bodies as you let yourself listen to the hammering of your heart.

Curling around you he buries his face into your neck as you splay across the damp bed, chest rising and falling steadily. Ryan winds his arm around your waist, pressing a delicate kiss to your smouldering skin as you lay a hand on his thigh with a small squeeze. As he nuzzles you his breathing softens and tickles your stray hairs, his body growing slack as he drifts into a blissful sleep; a content smiles still lingering on his lips. Rolling, you tentatively lift his arm so that you can pull him closer, tangling your legs together as you left your eyelids flutter closed.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fire crackling in your leg forces you to wander the halls in search of release, your body making it’s way to Geoff and his immortal nightmares occupying the kitchen.

You wake in the early hours of the morning, the light filtering through your closed curtains scatters washes of pinks and blues throughout the room. It takes a moment for you to gather your thoughts and compile them into something comprehensible, but when you do a smile presses itself to your lips as you flit your eyes open. Slumbering next to you is Ryan, his hair a mess of sandy waves around his tranquil face, smooth and free of stress lines. You wish you could stay like this forever, encased in his arms and utterly lost in the curves of his body, the strength of his bare shoulders and the arc of his lowers back.

The pain sizzling through your leg, however, has other ideas. It aches restlessly, incessantly pestering you until you manage to detach yourself from Ryan, begging for movement. Giving in you let yourself sink into auto pilot, shuffling across the room with a stretch and yawn before quietly opening your closet to remove an oversized hoodie from its depths. Silently you slip it over your head, the fabric brushing just above your knees as you hop into your underwear and a pair of socks.

Snatching at the charger Ray had provided you with after the reattachment surgery you sneak out of the room, the soles of your feet pressing onto the cold hallway, empty and hollow. You go where your legs take you, aimlessly following the lights your cybernetic threw across the ground. It wasn’t an easy silence, rather the atmosphere hung heavily and draped across your shoulders, anxious in anticipation. You continue to walk, refusing to stop until your body grows comfortable, finding yourself stood in the middle of the warm kitchen once your mind refocuses.

The room was incredibly large, resembling a casual diner with small booths dotted along the walls and extravagant plush chairs circling rich wooden tables. The floors stretch out in beams, tracing underneath the long bench that stretches half of the space, sectioning off the dining area from the cluttering of kitchen draws and appliances. Ghosting, you shuffle into one of the booths and relax into the comfortable cushions in advance of leaning beneath the table. You locate the power point easily, smoothly plugging your charger into the source before connecting the wire to the port on the inside of your knee, sinking into the blissful hum that courses through your leg; the lights glowing a healthier blue.

You sit like this, curling your body up onto the bench and snuggling into the wall, your eyes drifting closed every so often to allow your mind to wander; exploring the world without consequence. In your mind’s eye you find yourself stood by the ocean, the sun warm against your skin and sand smooth between your toes. Letting your body drift further into peace you focus on the whispering breeze, watching as the blue ocean swell; the colour achingly familiar as it separates you from the flames across the water, crackling and desperate.

A soft snoring catches your attention and you reluctantly find yourself back in the kitchen, eyes sore and shoulder tense while you lean against the wall. Searching the space, you smile as your eyes fall on a dozing Geoff perched at a table with a book in front of him, his cheek pressed to the open pages. You consider leaving him until his breathing grows desperate, his once pleasant dreams shifting as his face twists unconsciously in terror.

Quickly you unplug yourself, the humming in your joints now ceasing as you make your way towards the empty seat beside him. Laying a careful hand on his shoulder you rock him awake, smiling at him as his eyes shoot to your face before he calms down. “You alright there, Pops?” you tease, pulling away as he raises his arms above his head to pop his shoulders and let out an extraordinary yawn. “Yeah, I am now; thanks kid,” he replies, voice husky from sleep, “what’re you doing up this early?” You hold up the charger to him, the small bullet having been designed after your leg in appearance. “Juicing up,” you joke, handing it to him so that he may inspect it further.

He turns it over in his hands, peering at the small object that is no larger than his palm, eyes intensely curious. “This is pretty cool,” he finally confirms, passing it back to you and his eyes lingering on the ring adorning you hand. Still, his says nothing, rather shaking his head to expel the thought. “What were you dreaming about?” you question, putting the charger into the pocket of your hoodie and standing to wander into the kitchen. “Everything,” Geoff admits with an ambiguous wave of his hand, his face perking up as you flick the kettle to life and gather some mugs together.

“Everything?” you prompt, dropping tea bags into the cups as you speak, deciding that Geoff would be better off with decafe judging by the state he is in.   
“Namely Gareth,” he rasps, clearing his throat as you shoot him a curious look, leaning across the kitchen bench to observe him. His moustache twitches, frizzy as he begins to mark his page with a leather bookmark and push it aside, unspoken. With a light ding the kettle finishes, allowing you to pour in the boiling water as Geoff enters to kitchen to offer you a hand, returning to your seats with the milk carton, teaspoon, and sugar between you both.  

“You shouldn’t have to worry about anything just yet,” you reassure him, piggling at the teabag and shredding it across the table, but Geoff shakes his head.  
“It’s not the plan, it’s just...” he plays with his fingers and stares at the ceiling, mouth hanging open as he tries to think, “It’s kinda my fault.” You assess him for a moment, realising with a sinking stomach that he genuinely blamed himself for what had happened to Jeremy and yourself. Moving your hand to place it over his own you barely manage to cover his tattooed fingers, “this isn’t your fault. Jeremy and I were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“No, this has been going on for months,” he corrects you gently, catching your fingers in his hand as he still refuses to meet your confusion face on.   
“I’m not sure I understand, Geoff. Is he the reason you guys blew up the airport or something?”  
“You heard about that?” he asks, a little sheepish as he voice cracks. You offer him a kind smile and wrinkle your nose in amusement,   
“you grounded Ray and I’s flight to Cuba.”  
He studies you, forgetting his train of thought as you begin to remove the teabag stewing in your mug and top it up with sugar and milk. “Why were you going to Cuba?” he questions, a coy smile curling across your lips as you slide him the tea accoutrements, “We were going to hunt treasure.”   
“You and Ray, outside in the sun?” he chuckles, finishing his tea and bringing it to his pursed lips, “I’ll believe it when I see it”.

Sighing, Geoff grows sombre while staring into the distance, his face falling into the familiar stress lines etched across his skin. “We knew something was up,” he tells you, drumming his fingers against the cup, “the guy’s been ruining our operations since October. Small things at first, but eventually we knew that someone was trying to fuck us. The pigs would always show up at the right time, or secure shipments would get intercepted, you know just enough havoc to slow us down. We didn’t realise we were being pushed into a corner until our backs were against the wall.” You listen to him intently as he recites, having previously been unaware that they were facing such frustrating hardship. Having such a large scale mission go haywire due to unforeseen forces was enough to infuriate even the best of criminals.

“We set up bait for whoever was digging around in our shit by shipping in a large container, hoping to draw the fuckers in. It didn’t take long for Gareth and his cronies to show up and pry the thing open.” Geoff chuckles darkly as he remembers, drowning the sound in his tea, “we’d sent Ryan in the shipment. Once they opened it up they saw all of the walls crammed with explosives, and the scariest fucker you’ll ever meet smiling while pushing the button to set them off. Died in the process, but he had a great time.” A shudder forces its way through your body as the memory of the day flashes past, Ray and yourself sat and watched the explosion now haunting your mind. The idea that Ryan had died so close to you ached in your chest and made it momentarily difficult to breathe, whether he was immortal or not.

Sensing your discomfort Geoff pulls you against him and wraps an arm around your shoulder reassuringly, squeezing you tight. “I try to make sure no one dies, but sometimes there just isn’t a way around it. Ryan generally volunteers to save everyone else the pain of it.”   
You simply nod, not trusting your voice but placing faith in it anyway, “So you killed them all?”  
“We thought so,” he admits, tone deep and quizzical, “but when we came to the rescue we realised that Gareth hadn’t given up that easily.”   
“No wonder he’s pissed at you,” you joke weakly, pulling away from your father figure and sipping your cooling tea, the liquid warming you from the inside and settling the roaring anxiety stirring in your stomach.

“That’s not why he hates me,” Geoff manages quietly, shooting you a sideways glance that screamed nervousness. You raise an eyebrow in return, his noisy exhale greeting it, “I knew him long before the crew,”  
“how long before?”  
“I knew him before I was immortal.”  
“Geoff,” you try to keep your voice gentle as you realise that the man in front of you was beginning to reveal a deeper part of his life that you had never been witness too, “just how old are you?” At your question he shuffles uncomfortably, clearly trying to locate the delicate road to go down with his answer.

“What year is it?”  
“You know what year it is.”  
“I am 130” You can’t find your words, staring at the man with your eyes wide and lips parted, trying to comprehend what he was telling you.   
“When were you born?”   
“19th of June, 1887.”   
“Oh, you’re fucking kidding me,” you exclaim while rocking back in your seat, Geoff grinning as he drinks his tea, “you’re looking good for 130.”  
“Thank you, I moisturise,” he beams, his moustache twitching in amusement as you try to regain some form of composure.

“Wait,” you finally manage after filing away your confusion for a later date, trying to get back on track, “what does this have to do with you knowing Gareth?” His face falls again while he stands and collects your now empty cups, taking them to the sink. You consider telling him to put them in the dishwasher before Michael throttles him for leaving his messes everywhere, but something about his movements encourages you to clean them up once he has finished. “I was in the army,” he begins, turning to look at you and leaning his fists on the table, “back during the war.” From this angle you can clearly see the state he is in, unkept hair a mess and moustache frizzing, his dress shirt creased and half untucked into his grubby slacks.

“World War II?” you ask him gently, a cold shiver waiting at the base of your spine as he nods in affirmation.  
“We were part of the same troop, caught up in enemy fire.” You can see his eyes turn darker as he remembers, the fire inside of you burning as you watch him get trapped within his own mind for a moment, before shaking himself back to reality. “I wasn’t exactly the bravest kid. Dumb and stupid were my middle and last names. We were barricading ourselves into a room when the grenade came in. I thought it had dropped from one of our soldiers belts.” You flinch at the thought, a young Geoff scampering desperately to protect his troop, snatching at a fizzing grenade that would have become inaudible over the sound of gunfire.

“I’d kicked it in with us and yelled that someone needed to pay attention to the equipment they were dropping. Gareth had noticed it a fraction before I did, and I threw myself towards it; but I wasn’t fast enough to get to it.” You want desperately to escape the situation unfurling in your head, the explosion rushing through your mind as Geoff finally joins you again, sitting heavily in his seat. “It went off and completely destroyed the room and everyone in it,” he murmurs, rubbing his face with his hand; “I woke up a few hours later underneath one of my best friends’ bodies. My right foot was barely hanging on, so dragging myself out of the rubble and towards safety was difficult, to say the least. I stayed in the ruins, ashamed to return and face everyone. It took me a while to realise that my foot was slowly reattaching itself, but once I did...”

He trails off and drifts into the past to leave you motionless in your seat, staring at him in shock. You don’t want to leave him alone in his thoughts, understanding that if his trauma was anything like your own it would be playing out like a nightmare each time he closed his eyes. Gingerly, you loop your arm through his and rest your head against his shoulder; his body faintly shaking. “Gareth must have been killed that day, there’s no way he could have survived with the grenade being that close.” You chew on your lip and consider his statement, deep in thought, “do you think he still blames you?”  
“I know for sure he does. I figured that he’s going to try and kill the rest of the crew like I killed the troop.” You pull away offended at his disregard for himself, fully accepting a responsibility that wasn’t entirely his own.

“Geoff, it was not your fault. In all the time I have known you; you have sacrificed everything you have for others. You’ve given us everything, even if it meant you had nothing. You are the kindest, most compassionate man I have ever had the privilege of knowing and you would never do anything to hurt those you care about.”  
“You are going to make an old man cry, is that what you want?” he chokes, eyes brimming with tears as you hug him tightly,   
“love you, Dad.”

“And now I’m crying,” he sobs, hugging you tightly, “you’ve made an old man cry. Look what you’ve done.”   
“I should have called you Grandpa.”  
“Do it, and I’ll fire you.”  
“I’m a rebel, you can’t stop youth.”  
“I wasn’t shitting shrapnel for a week to be disrespected.”

You kiss him on the forehead as his tears subside before standing and moving to put the cups in the dishwasher; protecting him from Michael’s inevitable wrath.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew is beginning to feel like a family again, and families have traditions. Yours just happened to be Saturday morning pancakes with assistant chef Ryan.

Geoff had long since left you to your own devices to find somewhere more comfortable to sleep, and though it had been lonely you’d found solace in the silence achieved before the sunrise. Jeremy is the first of the crew to drag himself from his cave and forge a path to the coffee machine, oblivious to your existence as you regard him over your third cup of tea. A pang of sympathy shoots through you as you take in the exhaustion set in his bones, his bright eyes dim beneath the large bags carving across his face.

He makes it as far as sitting at a table opposite your own to drown himself in caffeine before he notices you, watching him as his exhaustion seeps away whilst your eyes gleaming impishly within similarly large bags etched permanently into your features. With a start he brightens, his face lighting up into a beam, a surprised  _‘oh!’_  slipping from his lips.

It doesn’t take him long to detach himself from the chair and make his way over to you, plopping down with a smile and splash of coffee. “Mornin,’” he says cheerfully, sipping the scolding liquid and pretending not to feel it burn the inside of his mouth as you snigger, “you sleep alright?”   
“Yeah,” you tell him between mouthfuls of your drink, “it’s nice to actually sleep in a bed again, and not on a gurney.” He laughs at your statement, the room instantly feeling lighter as your voice joins his. “At least someone got some sleep,” he complains, pressing a palm to his eye and rubbing away the grogginess while grimacing comically; “my studio is right between Gavin and Michael.”   
“Aww fuck,” you giggle, patting the top of his head as he rests his forehead against the table with a groan, “you’re welcome on my couch any time.”   
“I might have to take you up on that,” he mumbles into the table top whilst you giggle, beginning to stand and move into the kitchen. “As long as you don’t mind waking up as early as I do.”  
“Ew, pass.”  
“Your loss,” you smile, messing with his hair as you pass him, diffusing the purple with your fingers.

“You hungry?” you call to him while begin to rummage through the cupboards for your supplies, his head lifting at the prospect of food.   
“Fuck yeah,” he beams as you arrange your set up, laying out ingredients and stepping back to admire the station, “what do you have in mind?”   
“Pancakes,” you tell him as he moves to sit at the kitchen island eagerly.   
“Wait, where are you going?” he asks as you start to leave the room, but you throw him a reassuring smile,   
“I’m gonna need one last thing.”

 

* * *

 

 

Jeremy’s can’t contain the utter astonishment plastered to his face as we watches you pulling a sleepy and barefooted Ryan by the hand, his sweatpants and maroon t shirt tossed clumsily onto his body, hair tumbling in golden waves around his face. The unfamiliarity of the man stood in the kitchen leaves Jeremy in shock, unable to comprehend the sleepy softness of his features while Ryan bends down to allow you to place an apron around his neck; groaning lightly.

You beam up at the man stood before you and stand back to admire him in his ‘kiss the cook’ apron, Jeremy’s whooping causing him to squeeze his eyes shut and groan again. “Your hair is in the way,” you comment, tapping your chin as he looks at you through warm eyes, secretly enjoying himself despite the laughter erupting from Jeremy perched at the bench. Snapping your fingers you stop his hands that move to tie his hair up, instead zipping away and returning with a plain black cap and passing it to him. “It’s only hygienic,” you tell him with a shrug as he turns the cap around and brushes his hair from his face, positioning it backwards and offering you a kind smile.

“Good to go,” he says, voice deep and husky from sleep. With joy you spin to the counter, only to have him grab your hand and subtly remove the ring you had forgotten you were wearing, your face turning a delicate pink as he repeats, “it’s only hygienic.” An abashed smile quickly flits across your face as you turn back to the bench and begin to open bags of ingredients, Ryan now chuckling to your side and putting a few frying pans on the heat, a blob of butter in each.

“God, it’s almost as though you know what you’re doing!” exclaims Jeremy, leaning his arms on the island counter and peering into the bowl you were dividing flour and sugar into. “Well, yeah,” replies Ryan as he returns from the pans and opens the free range egg carton, cracking six into a jug, “we used to make pancakes every Saturday.” You can’t help the giggle that disperses flour into the air at Jeremy’s utterly flabbergasted face as he stares at the scariest man he’s ever met, of who is now moving smoothly through the kitchen as if it were his second home.

“Oh, my god,” comes an eager voice from the kitchen entrance, Jack bounding into the space cloaked in a bright and flora dressing gown, her hair a mess of fire atop her head, “are these Mad Hatter Pancakes?” She rushes over to the bench and grabs Ryan by the shoulders to stare at him suspiciously, their faces perfectly level to one another before she pulls him into a tight hug. “Oh fuck I’ve missed you, Ryan,” she breathes over the small pained noise being crushed from Ryan’s lungs, his arm trying clumsily to pat Jack reassuringly on the back. Finally releasing him she jabs a finger at you while you begin to portion out baking powder, her eyes narrowing; “whatever you’re doing, just keep doing it.”   
“Yes, ma’am.”

With a satisfied nod she backs out of the kitchen, racing to her room to change out of her sleepwear and gather up the rest of the crew, her excited voice echoing through the hallways. “Okay, so I have a question,” pipes in Jeremy as Ryan sloshes milk into the jug containing the eggs, beginning to whisk them frantically, the younger man tearing his eyes from the hallway Jack had disappeared down, “what the fuck is a Mad Hatter?” Ryan shrugs as he puts the bowl down with its contents now combined, leaning around you and letting a gentle hand move to your lower back to warn you not to step back. “It’s our team name,” you tell Jeremy, minding out of the way as Ryan plucks the salt from your side of the counter, returning to his concoction and cracking it in. “Mad,” you point to Ryan and he yawns loudly in response, “Hatter,” you motion to yourself and Jeremy nods in understanding.

“Like Alice in Wonderland,” he says gleefully, watching as you combine the wet and dry ingredients together, offering the final bowl to him so that he has something to do. “Exactly like Alice in Wonderland, it’s what inspired the name Cheshire, after all” you respond, handing the dirty materials to Ryan after he turns the heat of the pans down, moving them to the sink. “Cus you’re like, an insane cat who enjoys playing with people’s safety?”  His words cause a chill to drift across your shoulders while you carry more items to the sink, Ryan’s scrubbing motions stopping for a moment as he hears Jeremy’s question. Chewing your lip, you turn back to him with a cloth and wipe the surface down, “almost, it was the favourite character of someone close to me. She was so in love with the book.” Your words fade away as you force your mind to lock, restraining it from venturing into the past.

Jeremy’s face drops slightly as he offers you an apologetic smile, handing back the bowl he had managed to mix completely, lump free and faintly bubbling. Taking it from him you return the smile and quickly brush past Ryan as he finishes the dishes. Readying the measurement cup, Ryan joins you with a lopsided grin while firmly grasping his own cup. “On the count of three,” you tell him, his head nodding vigorously as Jeremy inches closer to get a better view; “three!”

Batter flies into the pans, the two of you expertly filling the cups and pooling the liquid onto the steaming surface until all of the batter is gone and 5 large frying pans are sizzling, happy and full. High fiving each other you slam your palms together, finger gunning one another as quick as possible, only for you to realise you were a fraction behind. Gasping you collapse to the floor with a cry of  _‘blarg’_  while Ryan laughs deeply, Jeremy’s higher pitch filling the room as you rise to your feet again, clutching a spatula and a wide grin. “The fuck did I just watch?!” questions Jeremy through his confused amusement and leaning back in his chair, only to fall off it and splatter onto the floor.

You have to wipe the tears from your eyes as you double over in reams of laughter, clutching your sides as Ryan crosses his arms and leans against the table, lowering his forehead onto them as he chuckles uncontrollably. “What’s so funny?” you hear Ray’s voice ask from the entrance, groggy from sleep and watching the scene unfold in front of him with confusion. Managing to stand you let your giggles subside, beaming at Ray’s dishevelled self while move back to the frying pans and thrusting a second spatula into a still laughing Ryan’s hands. 

Ray’s eyes widen as he realises what you’re cooking, suddenly becoming incredibly eager as he bounds to the bench, stepping over Jeremy with a yell of  _‘every man for himself!’_  as he scampers into a stool.  As Ryan and you begin to flip the pancakes to reveal the golden crust you can hear Jeremy struggling to his feet before sweeping through the kitchen and collecting every type of topping he can find, littering the bench with empty plates and cutlery. Ray is too busy greeting the rest of the crew as they file in, faces lifting as they inhale deeply, murmurs of  _‘Mad Hatter Pancakes’_  rolling through the room.

As you both pile plates high with pancakes and place them on the counter the mounds disappear almost instantly, the crew shovelling them onto alternate plates before drowning them in their favourite toppings. The kitchen fills with warmth and happiness as you beam, Ryan returning to the pans to shift the remaining food onto a serving plate. You can’t help the love swelling in your chest as you watch your family huddle around one another laughing, Ray pulling an intense frown and holding two thumbs up above his head while Jeremy looks over his shoulder from talking with Trevor as he demolishes his breakfast, giving you and affectionate smile.

From across the kitchen you watch Geoff attentively converse with Jack, intense admiration and respect in his eyes as he observes the woman stack her pancakes and dress them in butter and maple before tucking in, laughing at Geoff’s stories in between bites. Matt has a clumsier and impossibly high pile of pancakes for his frame, but you can help but admire his determination as he joins Ray and digs in. You let Ryan pull you into an affectionate hug before he busies himself around the kitchen, too caught up in the atmosphere before you make your way over to Jeremy and Trevor, having not previously introduced yourself to the blond man.

He swallows and looks nervous as you approach, but a strong clap on the back from Jeremy fills him with confidence. “Trevor,” he says happily while giving you a one armed hug, “I’d like you to meet Y/N.” You offer him what you hope is a friendly smile to ease his fears, and he seems to settle as his shoulders relax.   
“Hey,” he holds out his hand to shake your own, eyes warm and their depths constantly moving like molten caramel, “it’s nice to finally meet you and not be threatened.”

“Wait, have I threatened you before?” you ask, eyes narrowing slightly as a blush rises in his cheeks. Ryan joins yours group, a plate full of pancakes and a pleasant smile adorning his lips. “Yeah, remember?” interjects Ryan, munching on his breakfast, “Trevor worked at the liquor store by the boardwalk that we blew up a few summers ago.” You smile broadly, flashing your teeth at the memory before realising the trauma you must have put him through. “Oh god, I threatened you with a fucking knuckle duster,” your voice is affronted, but Trevor just laughs and scratches his jaw, your eyes faintly making out the pale scar you had left behind. “Jesus, I’m sorry man,” you try to apologise but he waves away your concern, grinning. “Don’t be, if you hadn’t nearly killed me I wouldn’t be here.”

“Wat?” the word is short and abrupt, making Jeremy and Ryan chuckle together between shovels full of pancake.  
“After the ordeal I tried super hard to become a part of the crew, didn’t happen until you’d... you know.”   
“But, why?”  
“Oh, so I could kill you in your sleep.”  
“Joke’s on you, I don’t sleep.”  
“Ouch.”  
“I also don’t die... it’s a recent development.”  
“Don’t crush his dreams, Y/N,” Jeremy lectures you as Trevor lowers his head sadly, kicking his feet.   
“I mean,” you start, watching Ryan out of the corner of your eye as he detaches himself from your left and heads towards the kitchen to put his plate away, “I’m flattered. Really, I am. It’s good to have goals.”

The sound of a woman shrieking happily crashes through the gentle happiness you had found yourself in, whipping around on high alert only to stop at the sight Meg holding her arms open wide and bouncing in front of a sheepish Ryan, her purple locks swinging effortlessly. “Ryan,” she complains joyfully as he leans in to hug her, “I came by your place when we landed, but I couldn’t find you.” Pulling away and narrowing her eyes she looks him over suspiciously, taking in his warm demeanour and comfortable clothing with a delicately raised eyebrow.

“What’s happened?” asks Meg suddenly, steering Ryan away from the crew by his elbow, her face concerned while Gavin shrugs and loads up a spare plate before joining yourself, Jeremy and Trevor. You greet him happily by bumping a shoulder into him, grinning as he tells you how much he’s missed Mad Hatter Pancakes. However, you still keep an eye on Ryan and Meg, curious as to what she could possibly be worried about. “Are you in the middle of a personal crisis?” she demands in a hushed whisper while gripping onto Ryan’s arm, “do you need support or something?” You hear him chuckle and try and reassure her that he’s fine, but she isn’t having it. Instead she crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow questioningly, “what’s going on with you, where did you sleep last night?”   
“I mean...”  
“Are you doing drugs?"  
“No, not at all; listen, Meg, did Gavin not tell you-”  
“Is it a girl?”  
“One of them is female, yes...”  
“Rye Rye, you better tell me what the hell you’ve been doing before I call someone to take you for a psychiatric evaluation-”

Her words cut off as Ryan rushes over to you and grabs you by the collar of your hoodie, pulling you back to Meg as her mouth hangs open, before he throws his arms out to direct her attention towards you. With an awkward wave you blush slightly after having overheard their conversation, but you pull her into a hug as she begins to cry your name. With tears streaming down her face she laughs through her sobs, returning your hug while Ryan steps back and beckons Ray to join the fray. Gingerly he shuffles from his seat, the idea of facing emotion so early in the morning very off-putting, but as soon as Meg spots him she released you and embraces him as well.

“Gavin didn’t tell you?” Ray manages to ask whilst his face is smooshed into Meg’s shoulder, and she just shakes her head, “what an asshole.”   
“Speaking of assholes,” starts Geoff, standing from the table as Michael and Lindsay finally enter the kitchen. Lindsay pulls you into a bone crushing hug, her pastel pink hair tickling your nose as she tells you how happy she is that you’re not dead anymore whilst Geoff clears his throat to capture everyone’s attention. “Thanks to our resident chefs we should be all set for the day. We’ve all got our assignments and I want everyone on their best behaviour. This shit is important,” he jabs his finger at Gavin, of who yelps in offence, “so let’s do this right.”

The crew begins to disperse from the kitchen and join up into their respective teams, Ryan huffing beside you before beginning to tidy up the kitchen. You follow his lead, moving to collect the plates left scattered across the tables until Geoff stops you. “I’ve got something for you to do,” he says, holding out a piece of paper, “There’s a guy I’d like you to go and interrogate, he’s a relatively new news personality in Los Santos.” You raise an eyebrow, listening attentively as Geoff speaks, “Lil J and Ryan are the only ones who’ve actually spoken to him, and that was way before he moved down, but he’s known to be a resident expert for this immortal crap. It’s about time we did some research.”

You stare down at the name and address written on the page in surprise while Geoff regards your expression curiously. “You’re fucking kidding me,” you manage, passing the paper to Ray, of who is as equally shocked as you. “You’re serious?” demands your partner, handing back the details as Geoff smiles.   
“Turn it over,” he tells you, and you follow his instructions, “it’s your second task.”

“This is a grocery list.”  
“Yup, have fun dudes.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A domestic situation soon turns dangerous when the cops show up

“Well, this is very domestic,” Ryan jokes into your ear as you push the shopping cart through the aisles, pulling your feet up to ride it until it draws to a stop. You let out a prolonged and dramatic groan, tossing your head back in irritation. “I’m not good at domestic,” you complain bitterly, catching an amused sideways glance from Ryan. He scans the wall of food in front of him, trying to ignore the frustrated noises you were making as you kick your feet and shuffle over to another shelf, searching for the ramen. “It’s not so bad,” Ryan replies as he scoops 4 packets off the shelf before dumping them into the cart, “you like shopping.”

“Alright, maybe I do. But not when everyone else is out catching crooks and we’re here making homes.”  
“C’mon, Y/N, it’s nice.”  
“I don’t make homes, I explode them.”  
“you exploded it one time,” he smiles, reaching out to take both of your hands, swaying back and forth on the balls of his feet, “and it didn’t really count.” Offended you yank your hands from his while he sniggers, snatching trays of ramen and struggling back to the cart, “I’m just going to take my ramen and leave.”

If you were to be honest with yourself, you’d found settling back into your old life surprisingly easy, and were in fact thoroughly enjoying wandering through the aisles and sneaking snacks into the cart. You could tell Ryan was as equally happy as the bounce in his step matched the constant grin that adorned his face. “You can’t leave,” he teases, pulling the front of the cart as you perch on the back, letting him serpentine through the shelves, “I have the car keys.”   
“We came in a monster truck.”  
“A bad decision, in retrospect. It has no space for groceries and four people.”   
“But Jeremy insisted,” you point out, heart twinging at the memory of him pouting and begging to let him take his brightly coloured monstrosity into the world. “You’re just as much to blame as he is,” insists Ryan, grinning at you.

“Speaking of four people...” you comment, looking around for Jeremy and Ray while being unable to locate their giggles between the aisles, “where the fuck did we leave our kids?”   
“Oh god, I thought you had them?”  
“hell no, they’re yours on weekends”  
“it’s not my weekend, Y/N.”   
“I’m a terrible mother”  
“Yeah you are, you lost the kids!”

“Oh FUCK,” comes Ray’s scream as an explosion rips through the street, car alarms blaring as Ryan and yourself share a frantic look, darting to the front of the store. “I’m okay,” claims Ray while he pulls himself to his feet, wobbling slightly as you stare at him in panic; his body littered with large gashes. “What the fuck happened?!” you demand, rounding on Jeremy for an explanation whilst Ryan begins to check Ray over, despite his assurance that he feels fine. “He was trying to put his weapon away, but he was juggling them all and his rocket launcher went off,” Jeremy explains quickly, your eyes growing wider at his words.

“I’m gonna take Ray to the closes med bay,” states Ryan, but Ray shakes his head to dismiss his concern;  
“Nah dude, I’m completely fine.” Ryan raises an eyebrow questioningly, watching Ray sway back and forth,   
“you are not fine.”  
“You’re just being paranoid.”  
“You’re bleeding all over the floor.”   
“No i’m not.”  
“It’s ruining your shoes, Ray,” Ray looks down in surprise, shuffling in the blood pooling at his feet.   
“Oh,” he says in realisation as his face drains and pales,“I guess maybe I’m not okay.”

And then he collapses forward into Ryan’s arms, the older man sighing and shifting Ray onto his back. Supporting his weight Ryan offers you a reassuring smile, Ray groaning into Ryan’s shoulder as his blood seeps into his clothes. “I’ll get him sorted,” he says, “his wounds should only take a few hours to heal up. We should be able to meet you at Jon’s at 2 or something.”   
“Sounds like a plan,” you manage, watching him as he piggy backs Ray away, his body bobbing against his back.

“What a shame,” says Jeremy sadly, disappearing back inside of the store with another empty cart. You follow him in suspiciously, eyes narrowing as he pulls up to the freezer section and begins stacking tubs of ice cream into his trolley while shaking his head. “You know, these things happen,” he continues, adding boxes of cornettos, “completely unintentional and unavoidable.”   
“You fucking blew him up just so you could get snacks,” you accuse, collecting your own cart as he zips past and heads towards the candy.  
“How dare you!” he exclaims, glaring as he swipes skittles onto the mound he was creating, offended. Snatching at a large box of sour candy he wraps his arms protectively around it, his expression outraged, “never talk to me or my son again.”

“You just exploded my son for a bag of gummy bears!” you cry, picking a packet from the shelves and hurling it at him, the plastic smacking him in the face before falling into the trolley. His nose wrinkles and eyes narrow while he huffs, spinning the cart and storming off in the direction of the energy drinks. “Ray knew what he was doing when he accidently exploded himself,” declares Jeremy, scanning the shelves before pulling countless amounts of red bull down, “and he certainly would have no way of knowing what would happen to be able to ask me, in advance, to get him red bull.”   
“You’re fucking kidding.”  
“I don’t like your tone, young lady.”  
“I’m older than you.”

Another offended squeak and Jeremy is off again, gliding on the back of the cart and holding out his arm to direct most of the chip aisle on top of his mountain of junk. “The fuck are you doing, you know you could have gotten all this stuff without blowing up Ray and, I dunno, nearly killing him?!” you growl, stopping suddenly and plucking one of the grocery list items from the shelf and adding it to your own haul. Jeremy looks at you shamefully, his bottom lip jutting out into a pout, “Ryan always tells me I’ve had too much sugar.”  
“He’s fucking right,” you grumble, shaking your head and continuing with the list while trying to ignore Jeremy’s incessant bouncing, occasionally having to yell ‘put that down!’ whenever he reaches a sneaky hand towards the shelves.

“I can’t believe you delayed an important meeting just for some snacks,” you mumble into the fridges while you check the eggs for cracks before placing them on the pile, Jeremy offering you a grin. “Not just any snacks,” he corrects, following you to the cash register and helping load up the conveyor, “ice cream.” You roll your eyes at him and greet the female clerk quietly as she finished her phone call, glaring half heartedly at the man bouncing to your left. “The question is,” says Jeremy, dividing the shopping and unpacking his own cart, stacks of ice cream and candy piling up behind a grocery shop you had tried to keep healthy, “what are we going to do for the next 1-3 hours while Ray heals up?”

“We could go out for lunch?” you suggest, becoming aware of the fact your groceries hadn’t started moving yet, eyes fixating on a male assistant behind Jeremy as he bends to collect something beneath the register. Jeremy doesn’t follow your gaze, instead picking up the subtle shift in your body language and bristling while he side steps around you. The sound of a safety clipping off accompanies the man as he stands smugly clutching a shot gun, the barrel staring at you confidently. “I’m afraid you won’t be able to make the reservation.”

You roll your eyes and lightning fast whip a pistol from your side, firing a bullet into the shot gun’s barrel and causing it to explode in the man’s hands; his shrieking shaking through you as flesh hangs viscous from his fingers. “And I’m afraid your one liners need work,” you state through the cruel smile twisting across your lips, Jeremy rushing at the female clerk and smashing his knuckles into her jaw, knocking her out. “Also,” you approach the man as he falls to his knees, scampering away and searching the floor for something to protect himself. Levelling your pistol you push the cool metal into the centre of his forehead, “it’s Cheshire, if you don’t mind.” The bullet tears through his skull at point blank range, littering chunks of brain matter across the shelves with a sickly splatter.

“I hate punching girls,” complains Jeremy, shaking out his hand before meticulously shooting each of the store’s security cameras, “still feels wrong, you know?”   
“Deal with your moral compass later,” you order while you move through the store quickly to peer out of the front doors, taking cover as a bullet flies in your direction and barely misses your head. Jeremy stares down at the device strapped to his wrist in shock, angrily exclaiming, “we didn’t even do anything!” at the 3 stars flash across the screen.   
“Doesn’t matter,” you state, grabbing his elbow and pulling him swiftly towards what you assumed to be the store’s back exit, the sound of helicopters and sirens growing closer, “they must have been with Gareth.”

You’re running through the stock aisles, releasing your hold on Jeremy in advance of removing the black bandana from your back pocket and tying to around your nose and mouth. You don’t have to look back to know Jeremy is adorning himself with sun glasses and a wide, white cowboy hat as you arrive at the back door. “Pig’s must have done a deal with the fucker,” he observes while pressing his ear to the heavy wood, grimacing at the sound of police swarming through the streets, “LSPD’s been after our asses for months.”

Jeremy steps away from the door, motioning politely to you with a friendly smile, “ladies first,”   
“I never knew you were such a gentleman, Rimmy,” you smirk, a coolness rolling through your body, muscles alive and restless in anticipation. Jeremy throws you the same manic grin you had seen him wear the night you had met him, “I’m a stand up guy.” You chuckle darkly, letting the viciousness of Cheshire seep into across your back like ice, “I really hope not, or you’ll be no help to me.”   
“I suppose I could change my perspective, just this once,”

“Good,” you raise your cybernetic leg to hover your foot in front of the door before smashing it open, your weapon ready to go, “cus it’s on.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for one of the most epic fight scenes in FAHC fic history
> 
> PLEASE: Listen to Lump Your Head by Hollywood Undead to add something extra to your experience!

The onslaught of gunshots ring in your ears as you fall into a crouch after kicking out the door, frantically scanning the car park before you’re on your feet and running towards the police pouring in, their guns blazing. Your body explodes forward, your cybernetic leg pushing you further and faster through the street, each bound leaving the buildings to rush behind you in a blur as you draw out a wicked long combat blade. Jeremy tries to keep up, charging behind you and clumsily dodging the bullets that wiz towards him. Shifting to the side, you slow your strides to let him breeze past you, yanking on a pair of brass knuckles as he goes.

His fist collides against a policeman’s throat with immense force, his momentum carrying him forward as the man drops while Jeremy’s opposite arm shoots out to smash his elbow into another officer’s eye socket, shattering it. Using his body mass, you plant your left foot on his back and launch forward, swinging your blade to slice upwards at three officers with panicked eyes. Landing gracefully, you don’t turn to watch their heads separate from their bodies, sliding with wet thuds to the floor. In an instant you’re driving the blade forward and impaling a police woman, who gurgles at you in between desperately trying to fire her weapon and her weak attempts to communicate with the larger police man approaching from behind. In a smooth motion you yank the blade away from her body and spin on an axle, slicing through the officer’s jugular like a hot knife through butter.

In the midst of your attacks Jeremy is surging through his punches, incredibly light on his feet as he dodges an incoming blow, twisting a man’s arm until it snaps and using his body to collect the stray bullets and screams being hurled at him. Shielding behind the body that twitches with each entering shot and spewing of blood, he rushes forward again and thrusts the body at a small collection of cops. Scattering in panic he begins to pick them off, smashing the closest set of skulls together before moving onto the remaining officer. Upper cutting him the man flies upwards, Jeremy spinning into a round house kick while ribs crack under his foot.

Scooping up a baton from one of the bodies you try not to glance at the four stars now throbbing across your devices screen, collecting another to dual wield. “Time to go,” you hear him yell as he rushes past you, grabbing your hand and yanking you into keeping pace with him, more sirens chase after you and helicopter blades slicing through the air like thunder. Firing your gun you manage to knock down two more cops, pressing your finger to the com in your ear and hearing it crackle to life. “Geoff?” you pant, rounding the corner with Jeremy in tow, “we’ve got a small situation here.” 

“I sent you for groceries, what the fuck is going on?!” comes his bewildered response, barely audible beneath the sound of you pouncing at a brick wall, legs compressing into your chest before you hurl yourself towards an unfortunate officer, gripping his collar. Letting the force of your movements propel you forward you roll into a flip, arms aching while your momentum drags the man into the air before smashing him into the opposing wall once you release your grip and land. His body crumples to the ground, an indent caving into the brick as Jeremy shoulder charges another officer into an exterior pipe; skewering him through the stomach.

“Yeah, I realise that,” you spit into the com and taking off again, “but it looks like Gareth’s working with the pigs.” You can hear Geoff’s sharp inhale as you round a corner and dive into the expanding alleyway, ducking to take cover. Jeremy presses his body past your own as he scuttles into the small window of safety, another voice joining Geoff’s in your ear. “We’re on our way,” comes the Vagabond’s deep and determined growl, but Jeremy cuts him off harshly,  
“oh no you’re not.”  
“You can’t exactly stop me, Jeremy,” the Vagabond warns, but Jeremy isn’t having any of it.  
“You realise this is probably what the shithead wants, right? To get us all out in the open so we’re easier to kill?”

You can sense Ryan’s anger fuming through his irritated hums, but spare it little attention around pulling a rocket launcher from Jeremy and skidding onto the street, firing it to fizzle towards the closest chopper before beckoning Jeremy to follow you as the explosion tears through the sky. mechanical parts plummet to the ground and shoot out towards you, shrapnel showing across the street and your backs. “He’s got a point, Skully,” you state, diving feet first into a small break between buildings, bullets narrowly missing the trail of your hair. Jeremy shuffles in beside you, his face smug as Ryan struggles with what he knows to be right and what he wants to do, which is inherently stupid.

“We can’t risk having any more men out here,” you claim, making your way through the incredibly tight space, trying to leave the chaos behind and make a smooth exit.  
“You better know what you’re fucking doing, Cheshire,” the Vagabond finally grumbles into your ear, and you can’t help but smile.  
“I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing,” you tell him confidently, your smile fading as 7 large and gruff men, of who you can only assume are part of Gareth’s crew, begin to block off the exit with their bodies; “I generally just wing it.”  

“Wait,” says Geoff as you pull out the batons you had stowed away, twirling them in your hands playfully before bending into a braced defensive stance, “where’s Ray?” On cue a bullet spins through the air and lodges into the brain of the closest man, his body collapsing and oozing blood with a few sporadic twitches. “We’ve got him,” states Jeremy, rolling his shoulders and cracking his knuckles, a wide, sadistic grin stretching across his face as the crew members stand their ground, almost unwillingly. “Yo,” greets Ray into your ear, static and proud, “I’ve got you covered.”   
“Don’t miss.”  
“You don’t miss.”  
“Ray,” you scold him before nodding to Jeremy, the two of you bolting to action in the small space, the men frantically rushing at you with guns firing indiscriminately.

You thrust your body forward, the baton crushing its way into your first target’s jaw and causing him to stumble into your powerful backhand, bringing the butt of the weapon into his stomach. Snapping your elbow upwards, you pull out of the stomach punch and twist the man behind you before leaping up to cling to a brick jutting out from the wall, Ray’s sniper shot ringing out to silence his bloody gurgles. The air around you surges as Jeremy rushes past, bracing his shoulder and heaving it upwards into the chest of another man, his arms failing as he is thrown into the air before Ray’s bullet slices through his forehead. “Headshot!” exclaims your partner cheerfully, tempting a smile to cross your lips.

With four men left Jeremy motions you towards him, lowering into a crouch and creating a cup with his hands as the enemy’s advance, reloading their guns and screaming obscenities. Hurtling towards him you step into his hands before he thrusts you upwards and high into the air. Letting your body soar you glance down as you begin to fall, repositioning a baton firmly between your hands to direct you downward. Jeremy takes on the nearest man as you rocket back to earth, smashing a flurry of punches into the grunt before axe kicking him to the floor beneath you. Bracing yourself you hit the street baton first, ramming it into the man’s mouth torn open in a terrified cry. You feel his jaw give way and resist as your weapon smashes through his throat and forces its way out the other side, blood spewing forth and splattering messily across your face. In a fluid and continuous motion you leap away, releasing the blunt object with a cruel smile and a spare glance back to the man chocking into submission, rubbing his blood from your eyes.

“And she sticks the landing!” cheers Ray in your ear as you effortlessly dip and sweep your cybernetic underneath the unstable legs of your next target, knocking him off balance while his knees buckle. As he stumbles and lowers his guard Jeremy runs up your back, powerfully pushing off your shoulder and snatching at the grunt’s throat. In a strong motion Jeremy drags him upwards while he expertly manoeuvres the bricks and bounces from wall to wall in the narrow space. He reaches the top as you begin to defend against a gruff looking woman firing her shotgun in your direction, taking advantage of the kickback break to disarm her with a swing of your right elbow down on her forearm, cracking the bone while the gun rattles to the floor. A wail erupts from her lips, fingers lashing out to claw at your face and tug at the corner of your eye, leaving the skin irritated and burning. Feeling her nails gouge at your cheek you give her a reproachful smile before landing a solid round house kick against her chest, winding and forcing her to the ground.

“Heads up!” Jeremy calls down and you back away quickly, peering up to watch him force a grenade into the man’s mouth, shattering his teeth in the process as you dance out of the way of them while they rain to the ground. Apologising with a polite  _‘sorry, pal’_  Jeremy drops him over the edge he was clinging too, the man managing to scrape a muffled scream around and out of the grenade fizzing and blocking his airways. While he hurtles down to the street you take a run up towards his quickly descending body, kicking it in the direction of the disorientated woman you had previously disarmed. As both of your feet connect with his chest you push out and project his mass away while you throw yourself backwards, catching yourself as your back arches and palms skid against the gravel littering the space before flipping back into a braced stance.

The grenade explodes as soon as the two grunts collide, shrapnel tearing through the man’s jaw and cheeks before he melting into flames, skin sizzling in the intense heat. With your final baton swinging teasingly in your hand you begin to work your way up the side of the building and towards Jeremy’s outstretched hand. Starting with a powerful bound of your left leg you find yourself airborne, your right foot connecting with the wall to propel yourself forward. With your left hand you smash the baton into the remaining man’s windpipe as he tries to snatch at you, crushing his airways before dropping the weapon. You hand collides with Jeremy’s, his grip strong and unwavering as a final shot rings out from Ray while you’re hauled up safely to the roof.

“Oh,” groans Jeremy as he peers over the edge and down onto the street, his body shaking from adrenaline and caked in blood and dirt, “we’re fucked.” You follow his gaze, stomach dropping at the sight of police swarming the building you were occupying, helicopters hovering above a barricade of cop cars at the end of the street, blocking the only exit. “You’ll never get fucked with that kinda attitude,” grumbles Ray into the com, the faint sound of wind crackling in the device telling you that he was on the move. “We’re at five stars, this is the perfect attitude to have,” defends Jeremy but you place a gentle hand on his arm, motioning to a car beneath you.

“I leave you two for 3 fucking hours, and you’ve already started a war,” jokes Ray while Jeremy pulls an offended expression, diving for cover as the concrete beneath your feet cracks into dust, bullets flying in your direction. “Excuse you,” you snap, ducking and shuffling through your weaponry, checking the clips meticulously as Jeremy does the same, “if I rightly recall, you blew up half of the street this morning.”   
“Now, that is completely different.”  
“You also blew up yourself,” Jeremy offers helpfully, shooting you a sheepish grin while you pull on your own set of brass knuckles, the spines littering your fist now wicked sharp and lethal. “You blew me up to distract Ryan!” yells Ray in astonishment, his sentence ending with a panicked breath as he realises he has just ratted out their plan.  
“I fucking knew it. Jeremy,” you turn to him with a glare, “you’re on notice.”  
“Great job Ray, I’m withholding the redbull.”  
“You lil shit-“

“Hey, hey, settle down children. Mummy hates it when her babies fight,” you tease while standing, the two men grumbling into soft chuckles. “Everything set up, Ray?” you ask, hair whipping around your face and lashing at your cheeks as a helicopter swoops over, “you know it.”   
“Brilliant,” you smile, stealing a grenade from Jeremy’s belt and waving it at him, his face shifting from confused to determined before pulling up to the ledge in preparation, “let’s get this party started.” Removing the pin the grenade slips from your fingers and plummets to the ground, clattering against the street as it rolls under the car, blowing it apart within seconds. Then you and Jeremy are moving, launching off the roof to dive towards the pavement, rolling into the flaming car as chaos ensues.

With a quick snap Jeremy holds the car’s back door, the metal screeching and groaning in protest until it is torn free of its body, smashing into the ground like a shield. You both huddle behind it, feeling each bullet pelt the plating and ricochet away, lodging into surrounding officers. Amongst the smoke you can hear the panic slithering through the streets, flinching away as you begin firing over your shoulder, the sick thuds satisfying to your ears while blood trickles between the loose cracks in the asphalt.

The sound of a megaphone roaring to life startles you slightly, your body reflexively recoiling to take cover into Jeremy’s side, his shoulders locked defensively as he continues to hold the door upright. The street falls uncomfortably quiet within seconds, all fighting ceasing and the sound of booming helicopters filling the space and foreshadowing your demise. “Come out with your hands up, shitsticks,” demands a higher pitched male voice, fear obvious in each pronunciation despite trying to sound confident and authoritative, “we have you surrounded.” Casting Jeremy a sideways glance you offer him a shrug before slowly pulling yourself up, the Cheshire standing h powerful, intimidating, and above all; amused in the face of the danger in front and the destruction left behind.

“I said, put your hands up,” shakes the voice of the officer you can now see standing atop a police car, the man having only just left his teenage years behind. With a grimace you begin to raise your hands and slowly move them towards the back of your head, Jeremy peering out from around the door with a mild curiosity. Then your face twists into a wicked smile as you open your fist to reveal a detonator nestled into your palm, the air rustling your hair and drying the blood adorning your skin. “What the fuck are you doing?!” screeches the young police man, the accompanying officers all pointing their weapons in your direction, waiting for the order.  
“Sorry boys,” you beam, flicking the detonator around in your hand, “but it’s been a blast.”

As soon as your thumb touches the button the C4 Ray had planted explodes in quick succession. Fire races along the streets and lines the gutters, dancing with the screams that erupt from the countless burning bodies. A carefully line of gasoline sparks alight and rushes in front of you, dividing your enemies and blocking their exit. “Go,” you order to Jeremy while he positions the car door against his shoulder, launching you up and over the flames as soon as your feet touch the bubbling and peeling metal. Your body cuts through the air with immense speed while you pick of terrified stragglers with your weapon, accurate and brutal. Beneath you Jeremy uses the door as a battering ram to charge through the crowd, bodies dropping to the floor as he and Ray work together to forge a path.

As you come to land you bring your fist down against the younger officer, the points decorating your knuckles slicing through his cheek with ease. A backhand sees another cop fall backwards to clutching the wounds lacing his throat, blood spurting between his fingers. You smile apologetically at the young officer who is now trying desperately to escape your wrath, his hand curling around a gun and raising it to fire in your direction. As the bullet lodges into your shoulder and forces your body to curl around the force your muscle sears in agony, but you do not allow your outer demeanour to give any indication of the pain throbbing beneath the gentle stream of blood now trickling along your sleeve. You tut at him while you approach, menacing and ruthless. “Sorry man,” you bring your foot down on his wrist, feeling it break beneath your heal as he wails in pain, “it wasn’t going to be anything personal.” Picking up his gun you inspect it, clinging to the sound of his pitiful cries to distract yourself from the nagging sting in your shoulder. Jeremy pulls up beside you and drop the door with a triumphant cheer, panting and slightly singed. The sight of him makes your cold smile warm slightly, pulling the trigger and firing the weapon into the young officer’s head; killing him and your distraction instantly.  

“There’s an empty underground car park,” Ray instructs, still picking off stray officers with a pleasant tone as though he were simply enjoying something mundane, “take the second left and then a right. Should be a good place to get rid of the wanted level.”   
“Sounds good,” you reply, motioning for Jeremy to join you as you sprint away, following Ray’s directions.   
“What about you?” asks Jeremy, breathless as you skid towards the concrete structure, hopping down and clambering between the large circular posts to land heavily in the abandoned space, legs threatening to give out. “I’ll meet up with you later,” Ray reassures, and you rest a comforting hand on Jeremy’s shoulder as he joins you,   
“he’ll be fine, that guys got skill.”   
“Finally, a little appreciation,” he chuckles into the com before drifting into silence, leaving Jeremy and yourself panting and exhausted.

“Jesus Christ,” exhales Jeremy as he lets himself slip to the floor and splay out like a starfish against the concrete while shedding his sun glasses and hat, sweaty and covered in blood, “I need to start hitting the gym again.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking shelter and removing the bullet lodged in your shoulder, Jeremy tries to hash out his emotions and resolve his feelings for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm running a poll to gauge interest for a Halloween Cinders Special!   
> It only takes a minute to complete, so please head over and let me know what you're interested from the list provided, or offer your own suggestion. I'd really appreciate it, and it will help me bring you some spooky content 
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> https://chezzka.typeform.com/to/SJemsg

The adrenaline pumping through your veins pounds in your ears, blocking out the fading of sirens as you lower yourself heavily to the ground. With a pained groan you lie next to Jeremy and stretch out, your muscles complaining through the ache setting into your bones while your body finally begins to relax, fingers yanking your bandana from your mouth and to your neck. The concrete stings your back as your chest continues to heave, a cold sweat dewing across your skin. You can’t turn your head to Jeremy, rather staring up at the roof of the structure while the heat from the cops dissipates into the sound of Los Santos’ bustling streets.

“Hey,” you manage, throat dry and voice scratching through your airways, “you any good with your hands?” You had intended the question literally, but Jeremy splutters at your words, his body growing warm beside your own as he blushes a deep pink. “I don’t think now’s the time, Y/N,” he stammers, his face panicked as you force yourself to turn to him. Reaching out you lace your fingers through his, bouncing your hands and trying desperately to work through the pain that was becoming more and more apparent as the rush of battle wore off. “Jeremy,” you try for a smile and focus on the feeling of your small hand firmly within his, “I have a bullet in my shoulder.”

“Oh fuck!” he exclaims, the blush adorning his cheeks instantly draining as he rips up into sitting, causing you to flinch in pain as his body bumps your own. “Why didn’t you say something?”  
“I am literally saying something,” you groan, face scrunching up while you curl reflexively into your damaged shoulder, now aware of the small pool of blood puddling beneath, “like, I’m telling you right now.” You can see Jeremy grow frantic, unsure of what to do with his hands, his lips pressing into a thin line and eyebrows knitting together. “Med kit,” you offer helpfully before returning your gaze to the roof above you, focusing on your breathing while Jeremy removes the portable medical kit strapped to his leg.

Shuffling, you lift your shoulders away from the ground with great difficulty, peeling your shirt away to reveal a messy wound that weeps steadily now that the fabric no longer provides a barrier. “Okay,” he says, trying to calm himself down, “I’m just gonna have a look and – oh god you’re naked.”  
“I’m not naked,” you inform him, gritting your teeth and breathing heavily while he tries to avoid looking at your bra by fiddling with the kit’s contents.  
“I mean, that’s entirely debatable.”  
“You can’t debate if someone’s naked or not.”  
“You definitely can.”  
“No, Jeremy,” you can hear yourself growing frustrated at his comedic attempts to relieve his own tension, but you can’t stop the irritation from seeping into your voice. Breathing is becoming more difficult, the pressure within your muscle now searing agonisingly as your chest tightens, his words filling you with anxiety.

He doesn’t appear to be aware of your vulnerability, instead powering on with his own insecurities as a driving force. You want so much to grip him by the shoulders and shake him, to abandon him here in this car park and find a small space and crawl into it, but his fear has you paralysed, his lack of confidence drawing panic out of your chest. “I’ve never done this before,” he tells you, his face pale and lips cracking while you watch him struggle to look at your injury, “but it’s can’t be that hard.”   
“Do you need me to talk you through it?” you demand, tone harsher than you would have liked based upon the flinch that shakes through him,   
“You don’t have to be so condescending.”

“Jesus Christ, Jeremy,” you growl, nausea now stretching from the tightness in your chest and up your constricting windpipe, taint the tops of your ears with an uneasy cold. “I am on the brink of a fucking panic attack, I have just been shot and I’m on the floor of a filthy parking lot with a man who doesn’t know how to take the bullet out. So don’t you dare let your god damn pride get in the way.” You can feel him hesitate beside you but you refuse to look at him, instead beginning to count backwards from 12, breathing in and out with each number that passes through your head. “You get panic attacks?” his voice is dubious as he tries to steady his hands while shifting through the kit to locate the items he assumes he needs. You don’t respond to his query, your eyes squeezing shut to better concentrate on the numbers.

“Talk me through it,” he finally says and you look at him, taking in the softness of his face and panic he is trying to bury in his eyes. Chewing on your lip you give him a short nod, turning away and resting your cheek against the cool surface beneath you; breathing deeply. “You need to tie off my arm,” you instruct, taking his silence as confusion, “use your belt and fasten it tightly under my armpit.” You hear him remove his belt without question and gently raise your torso, wrapping it around you so that the leather digs into your neck and squeezes uncomfortably, the blood flow slowing.

“Next,” you rasp, tears stinging your eyes while you battle with anxiety clinging to your ribs and sitting on your lungs, “you’re gonna need to apply pressure.” You weakly point towards the general direction of the t shirt you’d shed, cringing as Jeremy presses it into you. “Sorry,” he whimpers, but you shake your head numbly;   
“as hard as you can.” You cry out as he pushes harder, apologies tumbling from his lips to join your blood on the floor. “Once it’s stopped bleeding completely, you’re going to need to clean the area with Chlorhexidine.”   
“What colour is it?”   
“Pink,” you gasp as he releases pressure momentarily to look around before correcting his mistake with a desperate collection of _‘sorry’_.

“So, erm... this might be a bad time, but...” you flash your eyes up to his sheepish and pale face, astonished,  
“don’t tell me we’re going to have a deep and meaningful conversation while you’re digging around in my shoulder.”  
“Y/N,” his eyes are determined, the stubbornness you’d admired at one point now turning on you, “that is exactly what we’re going to do.”   
“Does this situation really scream ‘let’s talk about our feelings’ to you?”   
“Well, we’re already having a shitty time,” he snaps back, extremely uncomfortable, “why not get it all out in the open now?”  
“I don’t know, maybe because I’m bleeding the fuck out? That’s a pretty good reason, Jeremy.”

You feel his weight shift above you as he checks your shoulder, the steady stream of blood finally coming to a stop. Satisfied he places your bloody shirt on your stomach to save it from the filthy floor, the warmth sticking to the fine hairs dusting your skin. “You aren’t bleeding out anymore,” he tells you meekly, beginning to pour the pink liquid onto a cotton pad, the smell burning your nose. “I don’t want to do this now,” you groan, flinching as he brings the pad to hover above your wound, skin crawling away from the pain you know is about to sear through you. “Then just listen, it’ll be a good distraction.”  
“I don’t think it’s going to help,” your words cut off with a sharp breath dragging through you clenched teeth as he presses the solution to your skin, quickly wiping away the blood and dirt as best as he can.

“Ever since I’ve known him, Ryan has been terrifying,” Jeremy’s words shock you slightly out of the pain, your mind trying to refocus as you struggle to comprehend the direction of his story, “I couldn’t imagine him ever being the big lovable guy that the rest of the crew told me he once was.” You are vaguely aware of him disposing of the soiled cotton pad, the tightness in your chest becoming steady and consistent while you cling to his words. “Ryan’s never been terrifying,” you try to tell him, but the words catch in your throat and stammer from your lips through a gasp, a light breeze stinging your wound.

Jeremy is shaking his head at your comments, moving to collect the items you instruct before gingerly inspecting a pair of long medical grade tweezers with an unpleasant twist of his lips. “He wasn’t Ryan when I knew him,” he murmurs, “not until recently.” He brings the tweezers closer to your skin, grimacing as you yelp while he parts the flesh of your shoulder, widening the hole so that he can start the extraction. “He was always so isolated, just lost I guess. That might be the best way to describe it. Everyone would always get sad when he’d surface and join the crew, but he just sorta... went through the motions of being alive.”

With a deep inhale you imprison the breath behind your clenched teeth, eyes snapping shut and body tensing as Jeremy tries to control his shaking, cautiously lowering the metal into your body. You can feel every twitch as he rummages around in search of the bullet, your body burning with pain with each touch of the prongs against your sensitive tender skin. You try to breathe through the agony, struggling to control your lungs while you cling to Jeremy’s rushed speech while he tries desperately to calm himself. “I mean, even though he found me on the streets and brought me back to the crew, I still avoided him as much as I could,” his words are quick, slipping past your attention with enough speed to leave you slightly winded and confused, “I couldn’t be in the same room as him, especially not on my own. He just carried this heaviness with him.”

And then the tweezers connect with the bullet fragment inside of your shoulder, clinking against the bone it had grazed as you scream, jabbing your free fist into your teeth to try and stifle the noise. With more expertise than you had expected, Jeremy latches onto the piece and removes it quickly, reapplying pressure to stop the small amount of bleeding that had occurred in the process. Panting and groaning you try and ignore the cold sweat that is beading across your forehead, your stomach churning. “Why are you telling me this now?” you demand in a shaky voice, head spinning and starting to fog;  
“because I need you to know why I can’t let him fall back into being empty again.”

You search his face, taking in the deep sadness circling his eyes that sparkle in determination and admiration. “We were assigned to work together on a mission, just some interrogation stuff. He seems worse than usual that day, but he kept doing his job.” Jeremy removes your bloody shirt from the wound, peering at it with a satisfied smile before cleaning the area again. You watch him, the constriction of anxiety having disappeared to mingle with his words, leaving you confused and aching. “That night I found him awake and sat in the middle of the living room, and I just sat with him.” His eyes melt into you, the image of Ryan sitting cross legged on the wooden floor stinging more than your muscles, his shoulders hunched in defeat and face smooth and saddened. “I met Ryan the next day, or at least some version of him. I think he appreciated the company. We did some pre heist set ups and stopped for ice cream.”

“That man thinks ice cream fixes everything,” you joke weakly as Jeremy collects the material needed to stitch up the wound, cracking a gentle smile,   
“hell yeah he does, we went out for ice cream every week after that.” You can’t help the smile that forms across your lips, realising that the purple haired man getting ice cream you had seen from your apartment window was in fact Jeremy handing a cone over to Ryan. “I mean, he wasn’t opening up, but he would tell me stories of his life before the crew and his kick ass partner; which made him a little less scary.”

“He talked about me?” the concept seemed wrong as soon as it exited your lips, but Jeremy nods in affirmation, moving to pierce your skin and begin stitching in between your flinches. “He never mentioned you by name, otherwise I’d have known you were his partner immediately,” he looks up at you sheepishly for a moment before going back to work, “but the things he would talk about made me realise that I had never truly met him. I didn’t know the man that finger gunned people, or that would wake up early and make breakfast. Not until you came around.” You feel him pull the final loop through your tattered skin and tie it off, looking down proudly at his work.

He reaches for some dressings, beginning to seal off the site and protect it as best as he could before helping you remove the belt, blood rushing painfully back into your limbs. “I’ve never seen him so happy before, it’s like the man I knew doesn’t exist anymore, and I couldn’t be happier about it,” he gives you a pointed look, letting you know that he was finally approaching the real reason for his story. “Ryan deserves happiness, he has suffered so much and over the time I’ve known him we’ve grown to be like brothers. You are so important to me, but I love Ryan more than anything and will protect him with my damn life. I am not going to take away the one thing that’s brought him back to life.” He pulls your hand into his own, his face pained and painted with sorrow, “Ryan needs you more than me.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Ray finally joins you, the group moves to break into the targets house, but it doesn’t go as smoothly as Jeremy would have liked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to vote in the Cinders Halloween Special to have your say! 4 DAYS LEFT!
> 
> https://chezzka.typeform.com/to/SJemsg

You stare up at Jeremy in surprise, trying to absorb his words and somehow make sense of them. His eyes are deep and moving, nervously scanning your face while he bites down on his lip, waiting for some form of response from you though you remain silent. You feel his hand in your own, strong and comfortable, and try to figure out why your heart was aching at the idea of having to let go. You’d been so lost in Ryan, so utterly involved in dragging your past back to life, tying loose ends and picking up where you had left off that you’d let Jeremy sink to the back of your mind. Now with his words fresh in your head you can’t shake the aching of your ribs as you consider a life without his affection.

“Are you rejecting me right now?” the words were intended to be light and teasing, but you can see from the way his face flinches that he felt terrible about the pain underlying your joke. “It just wouldn’t work out,” he mumbles, playing with your fingers and trying to smile through the heaviness settling over you both, “I’ve sworn off dating women that could kill me.” You lift your fingers up to his face, resting your palm against your cheek and gentle wiping away the tear that had begun to form in the corner of his eye. His skin warms beneath your touch, eyes shifting in the thin beams of light cast by the setting sun from the outside world.

The clatter of heavy footsteps breaks through the silence that had fallen between you, snatching your attention away and directing it towards the figure scrambling down into the space. Out of breath and with his twitch purple hoodie barely hanging on to him, Ray continues to approach you, his jogging slowing until he pants dramatically and plants his hands on his knees. “God,” he gasps, not looking over to see you retract your hand from Jeremy’s face as he tries to recover, “I’ve really gotta start working out... Wait.” He lifts his head, glaring at the situation in front of him, motioning to your shirtless torso and Jeremy as he crouches beside you, “what the fuck is this?!”

Panicked and uncomfortable Jeremy tries to splutter his explanations, scowling when he realises that Ray was grinning cheekily while coming to sit next to you. Gently he lifts up your hand and holds it, giving a comforting squeeze as he leans across you to ruffle Jeremy’s hair, the man half heartedly swatting him away. “So, how is everybody doing?” he asks with a wide smile, narrowing his eyes as you roll your own. “I’ve gotten the bullet out,” informs Jeremy, calming down and relaxing back into himself, “but we aren’t going to know how bad the damage is any time soon.”   
“That’s where you’re wrong,” states Ray, his eyes glimmering in amusement as Jeremy tries to think of a polite way to tell him how much of an asshole he was being.

Ray ignores him and looks to you for approval, pulling up your left pant leg once you nod to him. Beneath the material your leg clicks and glows, the mechanism still cooling from the fight. Amazed Jeremy balances on his haunches, watching as Ray presses his fingers to your Achilles tendon, the tips humming a soft purple. As soon as the parts connect your leg begins to fire off colours in succession, tracing the shape of your muscles and nerves with bright orbs of light as they move towards Ray, disappearing into his fingers. He is quiet as the data transfers, his hand tingling uncomfortably as he finishes up and then removes his phone from his pocket, pressing his finger tips to the back of it.

You lie there sticking to the concrete as you wait for Ray to finish making sense of the information he had gathered while Jeremy just stares and shakes his head. A minute passes before Ray cracks another smile, slipping his phone away, “You’ll be fine.” His diagnosis is simple, but enough for you. With a delicate cheer you try to pull yourself up, letting Ray guide you until you’re sitting, knowing full well that the assessment would have told him just how heartbroken and confused Jeremy had left you. “Nothing permanent, just a few cuts and bruises, and this weird pain in your chest,” he tells you, raising an eyebrow while you wave away his words and concern, serious or otherwise, “I’m an emotional wreck.”  
“No one is going to deny that.”   
“Thanks, doc.”  
“I’m going to prescribe two doses of memes until that pain goes away.”  
“Are you even licensed?”  
“You don’t have to have a licence to know that dank memes are a cure all.”

Now sitting you try and breathe as the throbbing in your shoulder slowly begins to ebb, accepting the pain killers Jeremy offers and taking them dry, the powdered exterior scraping against your throat. “You look good,” you smile at Ray, relieved to see that a fine coating of dust paired with grass stains on his knees where the only signs of his involvement in your escape. He raises a questioning eyebrow at you, angling his head so that he I looking up at you in mock disapproval, “Please, I can’t condone flirting with my patients.”   
“Damn it, and I was trying so hard.”  
“Were you?”  
“Ray,”  
“I’m serious. I don’t understand how girls work.”

You look at him, suddenly overwhelmed by the fact that Ray was still in front of you, completely fine and unaffected by the hell you were both being put through. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” you choke as he pulls you into a tight hug, resting his chin on the top of your head while you let a few stray tears soak into his shirt whilst hidden from the view of Jeremy. “I’ve got your back,” he says simply,   
“and I’ve got yours.”   
“You’ll never be able to get rid of me.” He chuckles, hugging you closer and pulling faces as Jeremy stands, radioing in your status to Geoff.  
“Oh no,” you giggle, tears still stinging your eyes,  
“I’m serious.”   
“Jesus, Ray.”  
“I’m never gonna make you do this on your own.” Now your shoulders are shaking, fingers gripping at his back and you cuddle closer to him, never falling short of astonishment whenever you would think of how lucky you were to have such a dedicated, supportive and sarcastic friend. “I love you, fucker,” you whisper to him, his warm chuckle reverberating against your ear, “love you too, asshole.”

You stay curled up in his embrace until Jeremy begins to return, Ray’s arms unfurling and instead helping you wobble to your feet. Unbalanced, you lean heavily against him, mind flashing back to the burning building choking in smoke and the light breeze rustling the grass around your shins. “Geoff says we’re fired,” Jeremy says cheerfully, trying pointedly not to look at your chest as you realise that your bloodied shirt lies between your feet. As you find yourself blushing Ray quickly tears off his hoodie and offers it to you, helping you manoeuvre your injured shoulder into the sleeve before zipping it up. Though it was much too large, you couldn’t help but be thankful of the warmth it was providing, Ray now beaming at you in a black t shirt with a tuxedo printed on the front.  

“Purple suits you,” he compliments, and you try your best to strut a pose, grimacing as your shoulder pulls and aches.  
“Easy now,” Jeremy says, placing a hesitant hand on your forearms to stop you from swaying, “your modelling career can wait.”   
“Maybe Ryan can give you some tips once you’re back in shape,” offers Ray mockingly, earning a glare from you, “I’m in perfect shape.” Jeremy, however, picked up on the comment you both had breezed past, his face a mask of bewilderment, “Wait, why would Ryan be able to help with modelling?” You share a panicked look with Ray, quickly trying to avoid the topic with a “no reason” in perfect unison. Narrowing his eyes, Jeremy tries to figure out what he was missing, giving you the opportunity to get back on track.

“We should get moving,” you start, pulling up your bandana and tugging on the purple hood, “now that it’s getting dark it should be easier to avoid suspicion.” With an unsteady step you force yourself to walk, your cybernetic trying to counterbalance your wobbles. “Good plan,” agrees Jeremy as he pulls up to your right, repositioning his hat and sunglasses. Ray joins you on the left, grinning and stuffing his hair into his beanie while he offers you his arm, “Ryan’s gonna meet us there.” Grateful, you wind your own through it, leaning against him as he supports your weight; the street lights flicker into commission as sun disappears behind the city.

 

* * *

 

 

Forty minutes later and your group had made it through the slowly fading streets, shuffling behind the drug addicts, cheaters, and lost souls that wander the empty foot paths without a direction; sucking in the cooling air. The three of you stop outside of a luxury apartment building, out of place among the filth littering the walk ways and graffiti curling across walls. Still, you back quietly into the alley beside it, working your way around the back of the building, a single dim light casting elongated shadows across the floor. “Well,” you say, pulling out the paper Geoff had handed to you and checking the address, “this is the place.”

“Should we just knock?” asks Ray, and you move to agree before realising that Jeremy was already starting to scale the building, hauling himself up and over a multitude of balconies, stopping to beckon you to join him. “You’re fucking kidding me,” you rasp up to him, motioning to your shoulder angrily, “you really think I can climb?”   
“You’ll be fine, your muscle should have fixed itself up by now,” he replies while you turn to Ray, whose eyes are equally as wide. He shrugs, poking you in the shoulder before you are able to react, his finger jabbing the skin but causing no pain. “Yup, you’re fine,” he concludes, moving to start his ascent.   
“We can seriously just knock, nothing will go wrong.”   
“But you can’t guarantee that,” Jeremy tells you, waiting impatiently as Ray joins him.  
“Yes, I can!”   
“Too late, we’re in too deep.”  
“You’re in too deep.”  
“C’mon, Y/N, just think of the look on his face,” asserts Ray, grinning mischievously down at you.

You fume silently for a moment, staring up at the two men while they continue to scramble up the side of the building, heading to the top floor. With a loud and agitated huff you move to follow them, apprehensive before leaping upwards and gripping the bricks jutting from the wall. Surprised by the speed at which your body had healed you pull yourself up swiftly, swinging and leaping until you pass your partners and reach the top balcony before them. Though your wound was stiff, you roll your shoulder in awe too loosen it, waiting for the others to join you.

“In here,” directs Jeremy, motioning to the partially open glass door, “who wants to go first?”  
“Hell yeah,” volunteers Ray eagerly, trying to squeeze his body through the narrow gap. You watch him in amusement before his foot catches on the door, causing him to trip and clatter noisily to the floor, a large floor lamp toppling onto him. “Oh for heaven’s sake, I can’t take you anywhere,” you grumble, easily slipping into the space and trying to help him stand, his legs tangling in the cord, “hold fucking still, damn it – Ray, Jesus please stop kicking!”

The sound of paws bounding across the floor is accompanied by excited barking, a light flicking on to blind you. Squinting, your body freezes while you hold a pathetic Ray before a loud smash explodes through the glass to your left. Eyes finally adjusting you can see Jeremy covered in shattered fragments, holding your wicked long blade threateningly in the direction of the figure in front of you. The man has his head in his right hand while his left grips a blade identical to your own, the designs etched into the metal elegant and smooth. He sighs in irritation, seemingly unfazed by Jeremy who continues to brandish the blade, the man pushing back his long deep brown hair and assesses you with piercing blue eyes.

“You’re in my house.”  
“I forgot my key.”  
“I never gave you a key.”  
“So what I’m hearing is that this is your fault, Jon.”  
“I mean, I guess?”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You won’t know whether to laugh or cry, and will only manage to make a strange strangled noise that is somehow more disturbing that what’s written in the narrative.

“You got glass everywhere, what the fuck?”  
“It was an accident, I err, Jeremy isn’t actually part of our group.”  
“Why do you always do this?”

Jon stares at you expectantly and waits for you to keep arguing with him before rolling his eyes, placing his blade on the coffee table and moving to help you untangle Ray from the cords he had been trapped in. Jeremy however doesn’t come out of his threatening stance and continues to glare menacingly at Jon, of who really isn’t interested in his intimidation attempts. A ball of fluff barks happily by Jon’s side, tail wagging furiously as she grows increasingly excited by the sight of you.

“Why don’t you ever just call me like a normal person?” he huffs, bending over and yanking Ray’s foot free, looking pointedly at you with his bright, unimaginably blue eyes. You opt for a shrug while helping Ray stand, your friend now bouncing happily beside you. “I’ve gotta keep you on your toes,” you joke, ignoring Jeremy as he continues to act offensively, despite his obvious confusion. “For once could we be a normal family?” Jon sighs, dipping slightly as he throws his hands dramatically, face pleading,  
“Jon, listen to yourself; our relationship will never been normal.” His lips press together as he searches your face before he breaks into a sparkling grin, your worries lifting with the upturn curl of his mouth.

“You don’t come over often enough,” he scolds, opening up his arms. Beaming, you launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms and legs around his torso while he laughs and gives you a bear hug. “Give me a key, and we won’t have that problem,” you retort, letting him spin with you before dropping you to the ground and embracing Ray.  
“I only moved in two weeks ago,” Jon tells you over Ray’s shoulder, “but if you ever get a permanent address I’ll mail you a copy.”   
“Oh cool, do I get a key?” asks Ray excitedly, his mouth open a he points at Jon, who shakes his head slowly.   
“Of course you don’t get a key,” you say to Ray, of whose face has fallen, “key’s are for relatives.” As you speak you’re crouching down to play with Jenna, giggling as she leaps at your face and desperately tries to plant as many kisses on your face as possible. “But we’re bro’s for life,” whimpers Ray, jutting out his bottom lip while trying his best to seem offended by your response of “doesn’t count.”  
“That’s not fair, you aren’t even related!” your friend exclaims, throwing his hands at you before falling to his knees and rolling onto the floor, Jenna taking advantage of his vulnerability and jumping all over him.

“Legally, I can prove you wrong,” you reply, standing again and facing Jeremy to sigh heavily and snatch your weapon from him and placing it carefully next to Jon’s, giving the shorter man a reproachful look. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t threaten my brother,” you state at a now empty handed and shocked Jeremy, of whose words are stumbling in confusion from his lips. Managing to understand the general nature of his stammering you offer him a smile and accompanying explanation. “Yeah, Jon’s my brother,” but Jeremy remains astonished. Jon, sensing his confusion, tries to flesh out the concept a little more to aid his understanding. “We were adopted together, I’m the eldest and Y/N in my baby sister.”   
“Don’t call me a baby,” you poke, jabbing him in the side. Quickly he grabs your hand as you try to retract it, a smile hiding between the thin line his lips were forming while you desperately try to wrestle free, “then don’t act like one.”

“It’s just weird to think people still have families,” Jeremy mumbles, smiling apologetically at Jon, who finally lets you go of you and gives him a one armed hug.   
“Bet you regret threatening me the first time now, huh?” he teases, staring off into space with smugness.  
“I mean, you had it coming,” Jeremy tries to explain, his excuse falling flat on the floor at you regard him, eyebrow raised.   
“I did not, you broke into the wrong apartment,” Jon reminds him with narrowed eyes, causing Ray to burst into reams of laughter, Jeremy turning red;   
“I took you out for ice cream after, though.”  
“It was a good apology,” Jon admits, smiling fondly at the young man he was hugging before stepping back and standing beside you. “I get why you’d be surprised though,” he reassures, “we’re not exactly open about it due to the, err... the nature of our jobs.” Ray finally stands up with Jenna in his arms, holding her close and cooing at her quietly. You watch him for a moment, heart warming at the sight before you return back to the conversation, “not sure it would go over well if the world knew it’s most influential and lovable News presenter was related to the infamous Cheshire.”

Jon turns to you in surprise, his eyebrows rising to lightly crease his forehead, “I didn’t think you went by that name anymore.” You shrug and make an uncomfortably high pitched noise, “It’s... complicated.”   
“They learnt that you were immoral and didn’t die, right?”   
“What the fuck?!” yells Ray while you stare bewildered at your brother, eyes wide and searching his face;   
“you knew?”  
“Of course I knew, I’m assuming that’s why you’re here,” he pulls a face as though this information were easily available and general knowledge, beckoning you to follow him into the kitchen with the promise of tea. Trailing after him Ray casts you a sideways glance before placing Jenna on the floor, only to have her dance around your feet happily.

“How could you have not told me?” you demand, barging past Jon to glare at him. He lets out a long breath before touching the tops of your shoulders, his eyes earnestly peering into your own. “Y/N, I love you with all of my heart,” he starts, pulling you in for a hug, “but when you called and asked me to come and hold your hand, all I cared about was helping you. You didn’t want to think about it, you just didn’t want to know and by the time you called me your leg was too far gone. You’re my sister; you think I’m going to drag you down such an unbelievably painful path when you were already happy and healing?” You let him hold you, your fingers clutching the collar of his pale blue shirt as you stare at Ray, his face saying everything you knew to be flying through your mind.

His words made sense; Jon had only ever tried to protect you. You knew how painful it had been for him to join you in the makeshift medical centre after Ray had amputated your leg. You’d seen fear, agony and misery cross his face all at once while he’d rushed to your side, falling to your bed and screaming through the tears with you; never had you seen such pain. No one was more important than he was to you, and the feeling was mutual. If you were to be painfully honest with yourself, you wouldn’t have been able to tell him if your roles were reversed. You can’t bring yourself to be angry; you can’t even form something that could remotely be moulded into sadness. All that rested on your shoulders was a heavy understanding as he kissed you lightly on the forehead before releasing you and flicking on the kettle; grateful for your close relationship.

“Where’s my hug?” jokes Ray, his voice cracking and causing you alarm, turning to face the smile that didn’t reach his eyes.   
“Oh, Ray,” comforts Jon, rushing over to him and pulling him close. You can’t bear to watch the tears brim in his deep, rich eyes and tumble onto his cheeks while be buries himself into Jon’s shoulder, finally breaking. Instead you take Jeremy’s forearm and pull him out of the kitchen, back burning as you leave the flames behind with Ray as company.  Quietly you search for Jon’s laundry room, collecting a dust pan and broom and returning to the living space scattered with glass. You hand Jeremy the broom, the two of you desperately trying to ignore the strangled sobs erupting from the kitchen as Ray confides in the closest thing his has to real family.

“I’m sorry I threatened your brother,” mumbles Jeremy to the floor, and you shoot him an understanding look.   
“No worries, it happens a lot. You’re lucky I like you.” You can feel the worry let go on the tightness in his shoulders, the blush in his cheeks stretching into his ears, “we’re a team.” His statement does more than explain your relation, labelling it and forming a bond that you were happy to embrace. Carefully you shift the furniture away from the cream rug, collecting the fabric and taking it outside and shaking it over the balcony to displace the fragmented shards of glass into the open air. “Hell yeah we are,” you reply with a smile, returning back to the room. “We’re gonna need a name,” he muses as he starts sweeping, meticulously piling all of the remaining glass littering the rich wooden floor before piling it into the dustpan. “Give it some thought, maybe we’ll brain storm later,” you smile, faltering a fraction as he looks at you, desperation swelling in his chest when he realises that to dispose the evidence left over from his destruction he will have to enter the space in which Jon was consoling Ray. Much to his relief the two men exit the kitchen juggling mugs of steaming tea, all signs of their sorrowful interaction drowning in the warm liquid.

“Thanks for taking care of the mess,” Jon smiles, placing the cups down onto the coffee table around your blades, studying them for a moment before moving them onto the elegantly decorated dining table, the centre ornament overflowing with lush green leaves and frothing flowers. “Yeah, I’m err...” Jeremy motions ambiguously, his face flushed and embarrassed, “sorry about that.” Jon waves away his words and helps you return the room to how it had been before the cleaning endeavours; lowering into the couch with a sigh once the job was done. “It’s no problem, the Fakes are savages so I expected nothing less,” he beams, handing out the drinks and giving you a pointed look.   
“Oh hey, you better be careful throwing those accusations around,” you warn grinning into your tea, crafted perfectly to your taste, “Ryan’s coming and he might be a little offended if he hears.”

Jon stares at you happily after hearing the sound of Ryan’s name from you for the first time in years, mouth pulling into an open smile as you blush into your cup; unaware of Jeremy’s face suddenly paling. “Wait, Geoff says you’ve been interrogated by Ryan before,” the purple haired man chokes into his drink, placing it cautiously back onto the coffee table, ignoring Jon’s pointed glance at a stack of coasters. “Yeah, we’ve spoken,” your brother confirms, Ray settling in to lie back on the floor with Jenna. “And you knew Y/N was alive?”   
“Yeah,” Jeremy sits back in his chair, looking defeated and motioning a hand to Jon; “The Vagabond’s gonna fucking kill you, dude.”  
“Ryan’s not gonna kill me.”   
“Look,” Jeremy sits forward again, trying desperately to let Jon know that he would be in immediate danger once Ryan walked through the door, “I get it, you don’t know him or you see the best in people or some bullshit. But believe me when I tell you that not letting him know that his fiancé was alive is going to get you killed.” Jon looks unfazed, rather enjoying the smaller man’s concern over the brim of his cup as he watches Ray flail across the floor and Jenna run and dance over him, desperate to kiss his hidden face.

“Ryan would never,” Jon repeats happily, returning his attention to Jeremy as his front door opens,   
“what would I never?” his voice makes your heart leap, turning your body to face him with a relieved smile as he comes to stand behind Jon, placing his hands on your brother’s shoulders while flexing. “I warned you dude,” squeaks Jeremy, sinking further into his seat as Ray continues to roll around, and Jon just laughs.  
“Jeremy seems to think that you’re going to kill me,” Jon explains, craning his neck back to look at the sandy blond towering above him, both men appearing completely at ease. “Why am I going to kill you?” Ryan questions with confusion, his attention being caught by Jenna as she notices his present, abandoning Ray. “Cus I didn’t tell you that Y/N was alive,” Jon sips his tea, comfortable with the generally threatening man now falling to his knees and rolling onto his back for Jenna to greet him.   
“Oh, yeah that is kinda annoying,” he manages to gasp between her kisses, unable to control the gentle chuckles that drift from his lips and fill the room, “remind me to kill you later.” Overjoyed he cuddles Jenna, her tail wagging furiously, “I can’t concentrate when I’m around dogs.”  
“The Vagabond’s one weakness,” sighs Ray, crossing his legs and watching Ryan play with Jenna, “puppers.”  
“So, heads up; Geoff wants us to torture you,” says Ryan from the floor, Jon nodding in understanding while recognising that there is a process to these types of interrogations, “I’d rather you didn’t though.”  
“I dunno, I mean it is my job, and you were a bad brother-in-law” sighs Ryan, faking an internal struggle as Jon raises an eyebrow and pokes him in the forehead while he sits up, “almost in-law. So technically I did nothing wrong.”  
“Jon, it was practically a done deal. You’re still in this.”  
“Ah, but you owe me.”  
“Since when?”

“Since you didn’t come to my last birthday barbeque,” Jon reminds him, and he blushes and falters in realisation.   
“Wait,” you say, holding up a hand, “you guys hung out after I died?”   
They look at you, offended, “of course! I had to impart my criminal wisdom onto him while he was still young and impressionable. You never listened to me, I was hopeful he might,” teases Ryan, patting your foot. You kick at him, stubbing his fingers, “Jon,” Ryan starts after glaring at you and flexing his fingers, “I’m sorry I didn’t make it to your birthday. We’ll throw you another, and I promise not to torture you as an apology.”  
“I want you to make me your Raspberry brownie cheesecake.”  
“That takes 2 days!” whines Ryan, but he narrows his eyes and pulls a face, finally agreeing.

“Fuck yeah, free birthday party. I’ll take it!” he beams before tearing his gaze away from Ryan as he returns to interacting with Jenna through a series of  _‘wuzza, wuzza, wuzza’s’_ and finger wiggles. Jon looks at you with a smile, “So, as much as I enjoy seeing my sister and having her friends destroy my home, what is it that you actually want?”

“We want everything you’ve got on immortality.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy reader/Ryan angst, immortality and hints of Cheshire origins.
> 
> Only a few more days left to participate in my Cinders Halloween Special vote! 
> 
> https://chezzka.typeform.com/to/SJemsg

Jon regards you over his cup, trying to figure out an appropriate point to start a conversation about such a monumental and complex topic. Expelling a deep sigh he barely reacts when Ryan sits up and leans against his knees, enjoying Jeremy’s confusion surrounding his comfortableness with such an intimidating man. “So, I started studying immortality when we were kids,” he motions to you, the angles and curves of his hands elegant and strong, “you know how Jenna was a stray dog that used to hang around our house?” You nod to him, unable to forget the mess she had been in, matted and terrified before Jon had managed to befriend her. “Well, she was hit by a car,” your heart thuds against your chest, blood rushing in your ears as you try to fit this statement into your memories, but being unable to validate it while it smashes through your childhood.

“She was on the side of the road when we were heading to school, remember it was the day it was storming and all the bus was just terrified. When we got back home, I’d thought someone must have moved her cus she wasn’t there anymore.” His words are gentle, but you can sense the pain beneath them as Ryan places a reassuring hand on Jon’s foot before your brother continues. “I was devastated, and I didn’t know how to tell you. You were so young, I wasn’t sure you even understood what death was at that point, I honestly still don’t understand 10 year olds. But when I opened my bedroom window that night, she was right there waiting for me; tail wagging as though nothing was wrong.” You look at Jenna as she clambers over Ryan to crawl into Jon’s lap, snuggling him affectionately.

“You never thought it was weird that Jenna’s been around for 20 years?” he asks you teasingly, smiling as you begin to pat the content dog,  
“I never really thought about it.”  
“I was 13, that's forever to have a dog.”  
“I just assumed you’d gotten lucky!” you exclaim, pulling the dog from him and into your own arms, fussing her before passing her back to an eager Ryan.  
“I had no idea that animals could be immortal,” muses Ryan, lifting his head to stare at the bright eyes man he was leaning against.  
“I didn’t know anything could be immortal, I thought I was fucking crazy. I made it my mission to find out as much as I could.”

Jon stands and nudges Ryan out of the way, stepping past Ray in the direction of a large bookcase, studying the titles. “I put everything I could into books, just seemed safer that way,” he pulls down a thick text jammed full of notes before continuing to scan the case, “some immortal stuff really shouldn’t get out.”  
“Like what?” asks Jeremy eagerly, earning a raised eyebrow from Jon while he picks out book after book,  
“like the fact that our brains can be rewired to create immortal super soldiers.” His words cause you to choke slightly on your tea, staring at his back in shock as he calmly brings volumes of text to the coffee table and balanced them in front of you.

“Are you serious?” questions Ray, astonished as he reaches a hand out and pulls a book towards him, flipping through the pages brimming with text and illustrations.  
“Yeah, it’s got to do with how immortality works. We don’t actually live forever,” Jon sits beside you again, finishing his tea, “basically something happens in our brains that causes our bodies to regenerate and heal. You could probably die eventually if you had a degenerative disease or something.”  
“So what, if the brain is damaged then you either die a slow and painful death, or your body just heals... wrong?” Jeremy folds the words over in his mouth, sour and distasteful as Jon shrugs, “there are some other steps that involve creating replacement neural pathways, but that’s pretty much the jist of it.”

Jon’s sentence trails off as his eyes fall on your shoulder, concern setting into his features as he watches Ray’s twitch hoodie slowly begin to seep red. In surprise you look down at it while the room falls quiet, internally cursing for rushing up the side of the building as you now realise that overconfidence had torn your stitches. “Err, can I borrow some clothes?” you ask, smiling sheepishly at Jon as he rushes back to you, yanking the hoodie partially open to get a better look at the now soaking covering. He sighs and gives you a critical look before agreeing, directing you to the bathroom and his bedroom. With a gentle smile you stand and pat Ryan on the shoulder, “I’m gonna need help. I can’t really lift my arm.” He nods through his blushing, trying to keep his heart from fluttering out of his chest, a mixture of anxiety, affection and concern bubbling away in his stomach.

Silently the two of you pad your way down the hallway towards the bathroom, opening the door and stepping onto the cool tile before you begin to rummage through the medicine cabinet. “Oh no you don’t,” insists Ryan, taking your hand away and pointing to the cabinets lining the sink, “sit.” You do as you’re told, glaring at him before shuffling over to the marble countertop and trying, unsuccessfully, to hop onto it. Your shoulder was starting to lock up in shock, a consequence you had forgotten to be a major possibility after such an intense wound. Ryan notices your struggles and quickly joins you, placing his hands on your waist and gently lifting you up, easing you back onto the counter while your legs swing. You mumble your thanks into your hands while you piggle at your fingers, not watching him smile in approval before returning back to the cabinet to retrieve his supplies.

Though most of your interactions were silent you didn’t find them uncomfortable, rather taking the opportunity to reflect on the day. Instantly the thoughts come flooding back, the memories of your movements churning in your stomach and blurring your mind and the pain of Jeremy crashing through your body. The tightness in your chest returns and you scold yourself for allowing such a situation from getting out of hand. You should have noticed the clerk acting suspiciously, but instead you had been too enraptured in your personal life. Ryan stands in front of you, placing items around your thighs while you remain deep in thought, disappointed in yourself. “It’s not your fault, you know,” he says softly, his voice lulling you back into the bathroom as he gently shrugs off Ray’s hoodie, discarding it to the floor.

“I mean, you don’t know that,” you retort, flinching as he begins to peel away your wound’s covering, blood rushing from its confinement and tracing down your arm. He places a wad of cotton into your spare hand and you move to stop the flow, skin tender and bruising. “You don’t know that it was your fault either,” he tells you, managing to remove the rest of the covering and tossing it into the sink, but you roll your eyes. “I wasn’t paying attention,” you grumble, letting him take the cotton and continue to clean up the leakage, grimacing at the way its touch throbbed under your sore skin. “You’re allowed to have human moments too,” he murmurs when retracting the cotton to peer at the wound, satisfied that it had stopped bleeding. It was far shallower that it had been, though the stitches were tattered and ruined.

“I’m over emotions,” you mumble before falling quiet, knowing full well that he was right. Instead you focus on his confidence, the unwavering movements of his hands and at ease demeanour showed his proficiency, your body and mind relaxing as he worked. Something about Ryan had always felt familiar, as if he were the male manifestation of yourself. You trusted him wholeheartedly when you’d first met, the bond that had immediately formed between you growing exponentially throughout the years. You had been through so much together, fought through hell and back to make it out alive, somehow still standing hand in hand. No one was able to tame the demons ravaging your body and mind like Ryan was, and you were the only one able fight his nightmares and keep the monster from taking control. Ryan pulls a face as he starts to remove the clumsy stitches, the popping and tugging scraping uncomfortably through your skin, “I thought I’d taught you to do stitches better than this,” he scolds, hands still working steadily beneath your chuckles. “I had to teach Jeremy,” you tell him, a smirk crossing his lips as he shakes his head. “No wonder these are so bad,” teases Ryan, moving a hand to playfully squeeze your breast, “he would have been so distracted.” You slap at his hand with a grin, hearing him sigh as he stands to dispose of the small pile of bio-waste he had been forming. “They aren’t that distracting,” you deny, trying to suppress a smile while Ryan turns back to you, staring pointedly at your bra,  
“Sorry, what was I doing?”

You kick a foot out at him, the light movement causing you to suck in a sharp breath, all humour dropping from Ryan’s face as he rushes back to you. His calmness cracks while he momentarily worries before poking the tip of your nose, “behave.”  
You stick out your tongue before glaring at him, ignoring his warning, “make me.” The next thing you know are his lips on yours, soft, delicate and sweet enough to leave you breathless. Pulling away he looks at you beneath his long lashes with his mesmerising eyes, face inches from your own, “that’s what I thought.” Proud of your silence he studies your wound, shoulders and chest turning pink as you blush, skin tingling. “That’s not fair,” you finally say while he places some strip stitches across the shallow hole, smirking, “one more.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, looking as though he wants to complain. You jut out your bottom lip, pouting at him until he cracks a smile and brushes his lips across your own once again. Your heart flutters at his touch, forgetting the world as you melt into his warmth, body stinging as he pulls away again only to realise you’d looped your fingers through his jeans. You grin playfully, releasing him and accepting his help in lowering you back onto the tiles, his own face beaming and dusted pink, “I refuse to defile your brother’s house.”  
“Why?” you ask, picking Ray’s hoodie off the ground as your friend’s laughter booms through the apartment, “you realise he defiled ours, right?” Ryan’s mouth opens and closes in shock while you struggle back into the purple fabric, pulling it flush against you before moving towards the bathroom door.

“Jon would never do that to me,” he stammers, reaching around you to push the door open, allowing you to exit while you giggle. “Oh, but he did. Remember when he visited us in Greece?” But Ryan is shaking his head frantically, pressing his palms against his ears to muffle your words. Brushing past you in the hallway he makes his way quickly to Jon’s bedroom, letting you inside while you smile evilly. “Jon loves me too much to do that,” Ryan deduces, watching you pass slowly and give him a knowing look, his face still shocked, “remember the red head?”  
“No...”  
“Yes!” you laugh, his hands shielding in mouth in horror as his drops face first onto the pristinely made bed. You file away the suspicion the room was raising, untouched and the air boarding on being stale to enjoy Ryan’s reaction. “How do you know these things?” he groans into the sheets as you cross the floor and open Jon’s draws, rifling through his shirts, “Amber told me. Apparently dear old Uncle Jon tried to bribe her with ice cream.”

The words fall from your lips without thought, but as soon as they manifest in the space you instantly regret your lack of attention, Ryan stiffening against the pillows. Your body runs cold as you wait for your usual response, mildly surprised when the blinding rage doesn’t come. You turn to him after a moment and lock eyes, taking in Ryan’s soft, understanding and saddened expression. “Ice cream always worked with her, it fixed everything,” he murmurs, a sorrowful smile trying to flit across his lips as he remembers, eyes gleaming with unshed tears. You want to move over to him and offer comfort but you can’t bear stepping close to him, Cheshire’s anger too temperamental to risk with the subject. You had always hated that Ryan had been able to acknowledge his pain sooner than you had, having for years wanted to talk about, but Cheshire taking control and ruining all hope you had of resolving your agony. Instead of risking the inevitable episode you return to the draws and pull out a pale blue shirt decorated with a rainbow, _‘I have anxiety’_ plastered across the front.

Ryan is beside you in an instant, silently helping you out of the hoodie and into the shirt, cushioning your shoulder to absorb the pressure as he slips it over your head. You don’t know how his arms make their way around you, but suddenly you’re engulfed in him, cheek pressed against is chest as his rest atop your head. “I miss her,” the words escape your lips before you know you’re saying them, Ryan’s body hesitating momentarily at such an uncommon admittance of emotion regarding Amber, himself having grown used to your silence through accepting it as an unhealthy coping method he was unable to drag you from. Instead of the rage he had grown so accustomed too, he was surprised and overwhelmingly relieved that your body was falling heavily under sadness, much like his own. “I miss her too, Y/N, every day.”  
“I’m not sure I can do this now,” you manage to choke, pulling away and watching his face fall while he battles with the emotion threatening to overwhelm him.  
“I understand,” he replies softly, taking your hand instead and giving it a gentle squeeze, “one day we’ll be ready.” You squeeze back numbly, bitterly preferring the familiarity of the Cheshire’s anger in comparison to the sadness you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in years.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one fucks with your shit and gets away with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, we're slowly nearing the end of this fic! I've gotten most of the chapters fleshed out and completed, and am working on the final few. 
> 
> So, with that in mind:  
> What has been your favourite part of the fic, and what are you most excited about in the upcoming few chapters?

You stare up at the man who had become the foundational building blocks of your life, feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt at all you had put him through in the past. You wished more than anything you could have been a better person and a better friend to him, internally screaming at the role Cheshire had begun to play during your final few years together. But something about the present gave you hope, something about feeling sadness rather than anger pushed you to believe that it was still possible to make it up to him. Maybe you could survive together without reveling in each other’s destruction, and the colours churning in his eyes told you that he equally as hopeful. You had grown, embraced your emotions and anger to ultimately wield them as your own. Without Ray you would never have been strong enough, and thanks to Jeremy you were finally able to leave the pain of your past behind. Jeremy had given you the opportunity to re embrace something you thought you could never have, a future with Ryan.

You don’t know when your fingers intertwine, but at the touch you feel your love expanding to encapsulate him, accepting the comfort and familiarity he would always bring. Looking up into his eyes you finally see the kind and compassionate man you had known before the Vagabond, the introverted nerd you had first fallen for before hell had swallowed you both whole. As he studies you his heart aches at the sight of your smoothed skin, the stress and anger he had accepted as being permanent years ago now nowhere to be seen. You looked younger, the innocent twinkle of life returning to your eyes, shimmering like they had all those years ago. He had forgotten what you looked like beneath the Cheshire, forgotten the curve of your unguarded smile or the way your nose crinkled when you laughed. He thought he’d never see the smile that had made him feel deserving of happiness again, but now that you were in front of him he was breathless every time it stretched across your lips.

A loud meowing sounds from outside the apartment and bounces through the rooms, causing your eyes to spark in excitement and make Ryan’s stomach flutter. You jog out of the bedroom and into the living space littered with your family, clutching his hand as he follows behind with a deep chuckle. Ignoring the men occupying the space you peer by the broken door, a Siberian cat sat beside the shards and calling to be allowed inside as you squeal in delight. You can’t help the silly smile that stretches across your face as the cat paws at the open air, confused as to why the glass was missing before she spots you, yowling loudly. She’s seemingly unable to comprehend that she can cross the threshold, still stuck believing that the door is closed despite the cooing Jon was making at the animal to coax her inside. Quickly you release Ryan’s hand and leap over Ray, nearly toppling onto him as you make your way to the tiny creature, scooping her up into your arms. Joyfully she greets you with excited purrs, her paws tapping at your cheek. “Hey there, Tilly,” you coo at her, letting her nuzzle against your face and lick the tip of your nose with her scratchy tongue, “I’ve missed you too!”

“You have so many fucking animals,” observed Jeremy in wonder, enviously eyeing the cat as Jon chuckles, shifting over to allow you to sit between him and Ryan.  
“Oh no, only Jenna’s mine,” he corrects, pointing to the dog who has fallen asleep on Ray’s back while he lies on his stomach, unable to move for fear of waking her, “Tilly belong to Y/N, I was just looking after her while she was running around being antisocial, and you know, dead.” You cuddle closer to your cat, her purrs reverberating against your ribs as you smile into her soft fur, “and I am eternally grateful.”   
“Yeah, and you can take her back now. I can’t deal with her shit anymore.” His words surprise you, his eyes dancing in amusement while Ryan lowers his face to Tilly’s, her eyes narrowing before booping him on the nose, his face utterly delighted by the contact; “She literally has no idea how to be a cat.” You raise an eyebrow at him, letting Ryan detach Tilly from you and show her proudly to Jeremy, the younger man’s face excited and eager. He wiggles his fingers against her tummy, waiting nervously until she begins to purr in approval, Jeremy unable to contain himself from squeaking his affection while Ryan’s eyes alight and shift in amusement. “You knew that when you said you’d look after her,” you point an accusatory finger at Jon, who holds up his hands in defence, his eyebrows raising and disappearing behind the wild hair falling out of place.

“Oh no, don’t pin this on me. How was I supposed to know that she’d go running off like a fucking detective to try and find you? I had to drive to that bloody memorial every week last month because she thought you were there. Every damn time she’d jumped from that window you’d escaped from.” Jon shrugs at you, your eyes wide and confused, “the first time I was terrified. Now that she’s died 7 times its kinda just an average Friday.” He looks disappointed in himself as he watches Jeremy play with Tilly while Ray tries to roll out from under Jenna without disturbing her. Failing miserably she wakes up, her tail immediately wagging and reenergised as she launches at him, ready for round two. “You’re kidding,” you say, astonished and staring at Tilly, her bright eyes twinkling affectionately.  
“No, I’m really not,” sighs Jon while shaking his head and letting out a noisy sigh, “I should be out there trying to maintain some form of social life, but here I am scraping your cat off the pavement.”   
“Okay, that’s fucking gross,” shoots Ray from the floor, struggling with Jenna and trying to stifle a yawn. At the sight of it you yawn as well, the time finally setting in and forcing you into a groggy reality.

Aware of the exhaustion settling over the room Jon stands and collects the empty mugs, musing out loud as you join him in the kitchen, “you know; I’ve never known so many immortals to be in one place before. I mean, I know we automatically begin to orbit around each other, but this is ridiculous. Los Santos has the highest immortal population, and it’s all cus of your crew.” You can see the sleepiness encapsulating his eyes, his bags bruised as he offers you a tattered smile.   
“Don’t blame me, I didn’t exactly have a choice,” you grin, bumping shoulders with him,   
“Not your fault, blame our weird brainwave stuff.”   
“Hey, when was the last time you slept?” you ask, touching his arm to stop his movements, forcing him to pay attention to you.  
“It’s been a while,” he admits sheepishly, biting his lip as you sigh, “I’ve just been busy.” However his body language screamed at you that he was lying, the set of his shoulders far too tight and face trying desperately to appear at ease. “You’re an awful liar, Jon, and I don’t believe you,” you tell him gently, the panic in his eyes reaffirming your suspicions and twisting ice into your gut. He collects your hands in his own, pleading, “I need you to believe me,” he manages, face pale and the pink that had formed around his tired eyes worrying you, “just for now.”

“Jon,” you try, but he silences you with a begging look, your body aching with concern as your brother stands vulnerably in front of you.  
“Please, Y/N,” he chokes, blue eyes crystal clear and searching your face as you contemplate your role in the situation, “I can’t talk about it yet. It’s just... too much right now...” Then you remember your conversations throughout the night, and although any comments about immortality were still alien to you it was his inclusion of the word ‘we’ when referring to them in general that had sat unsteady in your stomach. “Oh, Jon,” you say as he retracts his hands and jabs his palms against his eyes, rubbing away the tears you knew he was trying to hide, “I’m so sorry.” You can see his struggles, the shaking threatening to buckle his knees as the weight of his existence stares imposingly at the two of you. You pull him into a hug and ignore his half-hearted refusals, rubbing small comforting circles into his back with only one thing on your mind; “Gareth?” He doesn’t have to speak for the anger to fire within you, burning in your veins while he lets out a pained squeak as a response. You hold him out at arm’s length, forcing him to look at the determination in your eyes, your body nauseatingly cold while you watch your brother – the man who had sacrificed everything for you – try not to cry. “I’m going to kill him,” you promise as he nods and sniffles to try and calm down, “he’s fucking dead.”

He runs a shaky hand through his hair a few times, trying to settle his nerves while you move to put the mugs away, knowing that it was your time to leave. “Here,” you beckon him over, wetting a towel and pressing it gently to his eyes, cooling the blotches that had formed across his face while offering a helpful excuse, “its allergy season.” He accepts your help with relieved thanks, his voice cracking before he coughs to clear it. “Call me if you need company,” you tell him sternly, leading him back to the living room as he relaxes, “or if you don’t want company. That’s generally when you need it the most.”   
“Thanks, Y/N,” he says, grinning as he comes into view of the others, all laughing and playing with the animals. “And hey, thanks for giving the press blurry pictures of Ray and I,” you chuckle; bumping your shoulder against his while he runs a hand through his hair again, a lot less nervous,  
“no problem. It’s the least I can do.”

With one more smile Jon turns to the rest of the room, clapping once to get everyone’s attention. “So, I’m gonna ask you to kindly fuck off out of my house now,” he says simply, motioning to his door as you grin, “I have to be at the office in 2 hours for... err, stuff.”  
“You’ve hired a hit man for the current news personality, right?”  
“Yup, he’s going down at 3 this morning, and I’ll be hard at work trying to create a brilliant piece as an alibi when new breaks and they’ll need the attractive new guy to tell the world.”  
“I’ve got a brilliant story for you,” you reply with a smirk, helping Ryan up off the couch, his knees cracking as he stands.  
“Oh yeah?” inquires Jon curiously, shooing away Ray as he clings to his legs and not wanting to exert the energy required to get up, “and what’s that?” You snatch Jon’s phone from the coffee table and open the camera app, jerking your bandana up around your nose and holding up your middle finger while snapping the photo. Tossing his phone back, he fumbles it and it clatters to onto the rug, your brother staring at it in frustration for a moment before bending to retrieve the device. Scooping up your cat and holding her under your arm you move towards the door, collecting your blade on the way out and returning it to its sheath. With a grin you let everyone say their goodbyes and usher them out of the door while Jeremy and Ray juggle the journals Jon had provided, waving to your brother as you leave, “tell them the Cheshire’s back in town, and she’s fucking pissed.”

 


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan finally brings up the Jeremy situation once you’re safely back at the FAHC base, emotions running high and equally confusing. It only after that you’re unable to wrap your head around immortality, and Jon tells the world that the Cheshire and Brownman are back from the grave, that Gavin tries to cheer you up through your exhaustion with his masterful makeup skills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have an epic long chapter that I felt couldn’t be broken down. I hope you like it, we’re moving away from domestic and into the realms of ‘HOLY SHIT EVERYTHING IS HAPPENING IT’S TIME TO KICK ASS’ - which you guys seem to prefer? Either way, this has team love n stuff bickering, cats, make up, emotions and a Michael. Not bad for a single chapter.

You’d abandoned Ray in his room and made sure he was comfortable before you’d left, returning to your own apartment to find Ryan unpacking the journals and scattering them across every surface he could find. He didn’t seem at all bothered by Tilly as she cautiously stepped across the papers, rubbing her face against Ryan’s as he lowers it to her demands. “She’s got you well trained,” you laugh, collecting Tilly and cuddling her close before setting her down into a mound of cushions piled on the bed. Ryan chuckles, his eyes twinkling and the tops of his ears turning pink, “anything for my girls.”   
“Anything?” you ask, raising a tired eyebrow. His lips purse to the side, narrowing his eyes before letting out a dramatically defeated sigh,   
“okay, I’ll get the tea going.”  
“Coffee,” you correct him, swiping some of the journals and moving them to your desk, “it’s going to be a long night.”  

You watch Ryan work in the kitchen as you strip off Jon’s shirt and your bra, every inch of his being radiating exhaustion through the heavy curve of his shoulders and soft pout on his lips. His hands move slowly as he prepares you a drink and you slip into a simple black tank top, shuffling over to you with his eyes hooded by tired lids. “Thanks,” you say, accepting the warm mug and placing it on your desk, taking in his sleepy smile. “You’re welcome,” he replies, ruffling your hair with a large hand and lopsided smirk. At the affection your heart aches, Jeremy’s words running through your head and you pull his hand from your head and into your own. You look at his fingers, tracing the scars as he looks down at you curiously; “Jeremy told me something interesting yesterday.”

“He did the whole, I love you but I love Ryan more thing, right?” His statement shocks you, but it isn’t his words that leave you confused and burning with embarrassment, it’s his tone. His voice is kind and affection as he speaks of the other mans emotions, no hint of resentment or upset to be found. With a strained sigh and creek of his knees Ryan crouches in front of you, peering up at your face while you chew your bottom lip. “Hey,” he starts, bumping your forehead with his own, “maybe I was a little blunt there.”  
“No, you’re fine,” you shake your head to dispel your confusion, smiling as his bright eyes cause the butterflies to dance through your stomach, “it’s all just, weird, you know?”   
“What, that Jeremy told me? Cus he’s like a brother Y/N, and he’s literally told me everything.”   
“You aren’t angry at me?” the words flinch out of your lips batter against your hands, blaring and unavoidable.

But Ryan smiles warmly and squeezed your hands, “why would I be angry at anyone?”

“Cus technically I’ve dated both of the battle buddies now,” you joke, uncertain of your footing in the face of such kindness and understanding.   
“Y/N,” he bounces on the balls of his feet while crouching, bobbing like a small child, “I should be thanking lil J.” He sees your eyes cloud in confusion and quickly continues, “Ray told me that it was the first time you’d been actually happy since you’d left.” You mutter under your breath about Ray ratting you out, but you couldn’t deny that Jeremy had helped you escape the flames that had encased you for so long. “I really enjoy Chinese food,” you admit with a small smile, and Ryan chuckles deeply, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement, “and aggressive men.”   
“That’s just a coincidence.”   
“All I care about is the fact Jeremy helped you make it out of a dark time I put you in.” You can hear the hurt in his words as he takes responsibility but you frown,   
“I put myself there.”  
“We aren’t gonna play the blame game,” he teases, and you give him a short, understanding nod,  
“no, cus I’d win.” You can see that he wants to debate the fact, but he forces himself to stay on topic.   
“Y/N, you have every right to chase whoever you want. I don’t know where we stand anymore,” he shakes both of your hands, rattling them within his own, “I don’t know what this is, but I’ll take anything I can get. If that means you run off with a man with horrible fashion sense,” he shoots you a smile to hide the pain in his words, “then I’ll give him a running head start.” He places a comforting hand against your cheek and your body instinctively leans into his palm, all tension easing as you stare into his familiar eyes. There was something about Ryan that you had never been able to find in anyone else, something that continually drew you two together against all the odds. You couldn’t decipher whether it was the way his soul understood your own or that fact that you felt you’d known him all your life, but something about him made breathing easier.

“I want you to be happy,” he says seriously, eyes searching your face to gauge your response, “whether that’s with me or with Jeremy; I just need you to be happy.”   
“My happiest moments have always been with you,” you tell him breathlessly, the words tangling in his hair as pure happiness softens his face. “I don’t know what this is, I don’t know what I want it to be,” you pull him by the shoulders towards you, his head resting in your lap while you stroke his hair, “but its effortless, and everything I’ve ever wanted.”   
“Then I’ll stay right here,” he mumbles against your thigh, feeling his cheeks shift as he smiles; “actually, can you not? We have so much shit to get through.”   
“Oh yeah...” he realises, sitting up and quickly nuzzling into your neck, catching you off guard and allowing a girly giggle to escape your lips, “I’ll go and get started.”

 

* * *

 

 

_“Our condolences and hearts go out to the many lives touched by our close friend, Steven Baramen. After being gunned down on his way to the studio, he passed away in the arms of his wife on their 27 th wedding anniversary, the couple being able to share a tender moment until the very end. Steve wasn’t only a news anchor like no other, but he was a brilliant man with a heart of gold, and above all a father figure to everyone in the network. Steve, you will be missed.”_

Your eyes are trained on Jon’s face as he eloquently presents an emotive and fictitious speech regarding a man whose death he had actively played a roll, a soft tear tracing his cheek to seal his lies into a neat and alluring package. He is quiet for a moment, head bent while a minute silence passes throughout the office, but you know from the creases on his forehead that he’s smirking into the desk, the world unaware. Finally he faces the camera again, professional as ever while you try to look past the bruising bags under his eyes and focus on the pride swelling in your chest.

You look down and glance over the journals littering your desk and piling over your laptop’s keyboard, illustrations and notes scattered into prioritised piles. Your eyes sting and head pounds faintly as you stare at Jon’s handwriting, tracing the flick of the  _‘y’s_  and curves of the  _‘f’s_  all while sipping on your 4th coffee, now cold and bitter. Despite your racing heart threatening to burst from your chest and dance across your work you persisted, unsure whether you were unable or unwilling to sleep.

With an irritated click of your tongue you return your attention to Jon as he finishes addressing the weatherman, his chemistry and on-screen personality jovial, bubbly, and charming.  _“It’s currently 3:37am and I am able to deliver some breaking news,”_  his voice grows serious but the twinkle in his eye gleams happily as your selfie appears on screen, crystal clear and accompanied with a photo of Ray grinning happily and posing with his pink sniper rifle. You make a mental note to ask Jon for a copy of the photo while the Los Santos Police Department direct line phone number flashes beneath the images, demanding recognition as Jon sweeps a stray strand of hair back up into his bun.

_“Our sources have indicated that the notorious Cheshire and Brownman of the Fake AH Crew have arisen from the dead and are now walking among us. Having previously been pronounced dead by Los Santos officials 3 years ago, it comes as a traumatic shock to our city that they are at large and in operation with the crew once again. Unbelievably, links have finally emerged that connect the duo to the infamous Cinders pair, the two donning the names Sparks and Ash to continue their crime spree across the globe. Authorities are still unaware of why they broke from the crew all those years ago, but it is safe to say that their wrath with be ruthless, lethal, and unlike anything rivals will have seen before. However questions still remain regarding their disappearance as with tensions amongst the community rise, officials refusing to explain the false death allegations. I’m Jon Risinger reporting to you live on FIRSTnews; more on this story later.”_

As the ad break begins to stream you let out a sigh and snap the lid of your laptop shut, having to shuffle some journals out of the way to close the device. An irritating hum surges up and down your leg impatiently while it charges, forcing you to fidget incessantly. The words in front of you were beginning to merge and no amount of caffeine would help you piece together a puzzle that you would never understand. Abandoning your seat and charger you wander the room, Tilly watching your anxious pacing from a nest she’d created on top of Ryan’s chest, his soft snores ruffling through her fur. You can’t help but smile at the sight of him, remembering how quickly he had passed out once falling to the bed with his collection of books. Quietly Tilly meows at you in content, her body curling comfortably across Ryan before she shuts her eyes.

A tentative knock on your door catches your attention and snaps you from your pacing, the sound of Gavin requesting a moment of your time working its way through the wood. You move to let him in after a final glance at Ryan, smiling as the man with dramatic gravity defying hair as he shuffles awkwardly in the hallway, his oversized grey t shirt ruffled over his pyjama bottoms. “Hey,” he mumbles with a voice thick with exhaustion, his gold nails glinting as he clutches a makeup pallet and a selection of brushes while waving. “Hey Gavvy,” you greet, allowing him to move past you and into the space, eyes lighting up at the sight of Tilly and Ryan.   
“It’s still weird to think you guys are together, err were, whatever is happening now,” he tells you, and you feel your cheeks warm.  
“Sorry we didn’t tell you back then.”  
“Well, you should be,” he grins, rubbing his face with his hand to dispel the sleepiness from his eyes as you speak,   
“what’s up?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” he admits in a lower volume as so to not disturb Ryan, flopping onto your couch as you close the door and turn to face him, his eyes puffy and face drained. “Is everything alright?” you worry, joining him on the sofa as he gives you a noncommittal shrug,  
“yeah. Meg didn’t come home last night, this morning? I, err, didn’t come home when she should have.” He wrestles with his words, gripping at the fleeting concept of a sentence while trying to form something understandable, “Something came up with the mission, and so she’s not going to be back until tonight, tomorrow... the next night. The next time it is night, what?” You give him an apologetic smile, knowing how affectionate and caring Gavin was, and how not having Meg around was always hard for him despite whatever he’d tell you. “I figured you’re the only one awake at this time of night,” he grins at you, and you nod in understanding;   
“I haven’t slept either,” you confirm with a well timed yawn.

Back when you were still with the crew Gavin and yourself had often found yourselves banding together during the unholy hours of the night at least once a week, raiding each other’s fridges and taking long car rides up Mount Chiliad to escape the confines of your quiet apartments. It had become routine, a text setting everything in motion so that you could feel the wind in your hair and leave your problems behind to watch over Ryan as he’d slept beside you. “I’m not really surprised you’ve gotten no sleep, Ryan snores like a cow,” Gavin jokes while he rubs his eyes again, smiling as you chuckle.   
“mphfrphmm...” comes a sleepy reply from the bed, Ryan’s hand waving slightly to tell Gavin off, but he mimics the noise in a deep voice, pleased when the older man grumbles.

“So I was watching the news this morning,” he continues, watching you closely to assess your reactions, “and the attractive man said that the Cheshire and Brownman were back in town.”   
“I’m sure the attractive man has a name,” you point out, aware of Gavin excitedly waiting for you to stop talking so that he can boast his assumption,  
“you know each other, right?” You sigh, resting your head back against the cushions as Tilly leaps from the bed to join you in your lap, Ryan letting out a small  _‘oof’_  noise before rolling onto his stomach to watch the two of you curiously. You nod to Gavin, too exhausted to try and skirt around the subject. “He’s your brother!” he squeals in delight, legs lifting away from the floor as he kicks his feet happily. “That’s an oddly specphific conclusion to jump too,” notes Ryan from the bed, rubbing his eyes, quiet impressed.   
“Specphific? You wanna take that dick outta your mouth and try again?”  
“I’m surprised you know what that even sounds like.”  
“What are you insinuating, Ryan? That Meg doesn’t-“  
“I’m insinuating that you’re a fucking cun-”  
“Shut up Ryan!” quips Gavin while trying to suppress his amusement, glaring as Ryan mimics his comment, voice going far higher than it should and falling over the words. “Can you even speak a sentence without flubbing?” giggles Gavin, looking entertained. Ryan narrowing his eyes, pointing at the man,   
“come over here and find out.” Gavin goes to move towards him, but you place a hand on his arm, stopping him,   
“no, no, ignore him and tell me how you know about Jon.”  
“Oh, Michael and I know him,” he explains still amused, “we go out for bevs and found him at your memorial on the anniversary of your death. We did this whole bloody thing with flowers and shit and he scared everyone half to death. Didn’t believe him to begin with,” Gavin pulls a face, as though he was surprised at his past self’s actions, “but then we saw the baby photos in his wallet.”

With a groan you squeeze your eyes shut, rolling away from the pleased man on your couch.   
“But you were so cute!” exclaims Ryan, Gavin nodding vigorously in agreement as you groan again.   
“Why are you here?” you grumble while Gavin’s giggles and squeals join Ryan’s chuckles, watching your discomfort.   
“Well, now that Jon’s outed you,” he starts, motioning to the pallet and make up supplied in his lap, “I thought the new Cheshire could use a makeover, I’ve been brain storming ideas.” You raise an eyebrow in response, turning to face him curiously.   
“New Cheshire?” Ryan asks while you watch Gavin’s eyes shift and sparkle as he stands, grabbing your arm and pulling you to your feet and over towards the island benches in the kitchen. “Yeah, ever since we all got together again you’ve been so different. Not bad different, but better at controlling yourself and stuff,” he smiles at you, meaning his words as a compliment while he helps you settle onto the stool, studying you. “You’ve like,” he waves his hand ambiguously in a grandiose gesture, “levelled up.” Ryan pipes in that the younger man is right, but before he can finish his supportive sentence he’s fallen asleep again.

You try to snatch at his words while the drift lazily through your head, realising that he was far more observant than you’d given him credit for. You were flattered at the attention he had paid, his admiring tone complimenting the will power you had been exercising for years to keep the Cheshire under control. It was far easier, and you’d come a long way from the days where you’d snap at a moment’s notice, once terrifying the young golden boy.  Sensing your pride Gavin cracks a victorious smile, bouncing in excitement while he coos. “Okay, you can play with my face,” you tell him and holding up a finger in warning, “but don’t go overboard. If this is going to be my new look I want to be able to recreate it.”  
He nods vigorously in agreement, popping open a pallet full of gold shimmer and dipping in a brush, “you’re gonna look bloody top.”

Half an hour passes like this, Gavin’s hand leaning gently on your cheek as he works at splattering gold across your eyelids and flicking it up past your brow bone with a permanent and exhausted grin plastered to his face. Somewhere close to the half way mark Ryan gets a call from Geoff and has to leave, admiring the gold Gavin was creating before rushing off with little information to work off, other than Geoff sounding concerned. You keep your eyes shut, the dust clinging to your eyelashes as Gavin continues to create splashes across your cheeks, growing excited as he finally finishes with a delighted squeak. “Now you’re ready to crack some skulls!” he exclaims eagerly, snatching your bandana from underneath the cat and pressing it into your hands, directing you to the full length mirror adorning your closet doors. “I’m always ready to crack skulls,” you correct him with an amused smile, eyes burning in the light as you cross the room to stand in front of your reflection.

Staring back at you is a powerful woman, gold tracing the deep bruising circles around your eyes only to splay elegantly across your cheeks and up to your temples, the shimmer cut with an intense and sharp wing. Silently you tie your bandana around the bottom section of your face while Gavin stands as straight as a board, his shoulders raised and fists shaking in excitement by his side. Ignoring his comically squished face you move closer, watching as your eyes flash within the shining and ever-moving gold they were buried within, dangerous, intimidating and unwavering. Coupled with the messy state of your hair and the scars painting your skin a multitude of shaded colours you can feel yourself stand taller in your confidence. You barely pay attention to the blooming bruise discolouring your shoulder with blacks and blues and stretching across your collar bone, your tank top allowing the wound to parade itself proudly. For once it wasn’t pain and anger that you saw in your reflection, this time it was you; the Cheshire moulded into something to be proud of.

You want to turn and gush to your friend, commend him on his efforts to help you realise your true strength and celebrate your achievements, but you can’t find the right words. Instead you cross the room quickly, pulling him into a tight hug and only able to muster a shaky  _‘thank you’_  into his shoulder. Surprised by the physical contact he hesitates a fraction before he wraps his arms around your body, “it’s the least I could do. You used to struggle so much with her, I’m super proud of you for winning.” He pulls away his teeth glinting as he smiles, “you’re in charge now, bitch.”   
“God I wish that were true, it feels like I’m so far from being in control. Everything’s just crashing down all at once,” you admit to him while stepping out of his arms and moving deeper into the kitchen, listing off on your fingers, “In the past month I’ve met and lost Jeremy, rekindled god knows what with Ryan, been tortured and had my fucking leg torn off, committed suicide to find out in immortality is real, reintegrated with a family I’d hated for three years, been shot, watched my best friend cry, learnt my brother’s fucking immortal thanks to Gareth...” you stop walking, body cold as your fingers curl around the kettle’s handle, yanking it towards the sink and filling it. “Oh and Jesus Christ, fucking Gareth, how is anyone suppose to function when dealing with this shit? Yet here I am staring at words that don’t make sense and trying to find a way to kill this son of a bitch so I can finally get some sleep.” You can feel the tears stinging behind your eyes as you bounce onto the counter to reach for your best mugs, far too frustrated to let yourself cry; “I’m getting sorta sick of feeling, Gav.” Dropping down you flick on the kettle, the man behind you offering a shrug,  
“you have to feel though, don’t you?” his question surprises you as you continue to ferret for tea bags, finally dropping them into the cups, “if you didn’t feel it’d be boring.”

“Gavin,” you turn to him, placing your hands on your hips, “I get that you’re trying to help me feel better and encourage me accept my emotions, but that is one of the stupidest statements I’ve ever heard.” Gavin squeaks at you in response, offended while he tries to explain his illogical thought process.  
“I didn’t mean that you’d be boring, I meant that life would be boring... wait, what.”  
“Those are two entirely different things!”  
“No they’re not, are they?”  
“Yes Gavin, what the fuck are you talking about?” you demand in astonishment, having to talk loudly to be heard over the bubbling kettle.   
“Well I don’t bloody know, do I?” he exclaims waving his hands around, “you’re the one who’s good at talking about emotions and shit. I don’t know what the hell I’m saying half the time here!”  
“No one knows what you’re saying most of the time!” you laugh, pouring the boiled water into the cups as he sticks his tongue out at you.

“I think I’m just high, well my brain is,” he states in certainty, and you can’t quite believe what you’re hearing. Returning the kettle to its designated spot you turn slowly to him, placing both hands on the kitchen island counter and leaning into it you voice becomes incredibly serious; “what the absolute fuck are you on with?” He seems unfazed by your words, launching into an explanation as if it were a common experience, “you know, sleep high; when you don’t have enough sleep and your brain gets high.”  
“Your brain get’s high?” you repeat slowly, eyes wide and looking at him in bewilderment, expecting at any moment to hear him giggle and admit that he was teasing you. Unsurprisingly it doesn’t happen, he simply confirms his statement with a  _‘yeah’_. You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to will the headache throbbing across your forehead into submission, desperate to get onto the same page as the man; “so your whole body is high, are you telling me that you’re high?”  
“Not me, just my brain.” You throw up your arms realising it was obvious that even if you were on the same page you’d be reading two completely different books.   
“Gavin, seriously what are you saying?”   
“My brain is high, Y/N, it’s high because I didn’t sleep.”  
“Then you’re delirious from exhaustion, not just your brain, it’s all of you!” you try to conclude, but he refuses your results with a quick shake of his head, watching him you could almost hear the air rushing through his hair, “I’m not my brain.”  
“WHAT?!” you screech, completely disbelieving of the tangents he would follow, unable to grasp at the nonsensical strands of logic he was trying to provide, “then what the fuck are you?”  
“I’m me!”  
“And what makes you, you?”  
“My personality, I guess,” he shrugs, not understanding the direction your question was pointing, still you persist,  
“and where does your personality come from?”  
“I’m too tired for this!”  
“Don’t you mean your brains too tired?”  
“Now you’re making stuff up.”

“I swear to god I will kill you both in your sleep,” comes Michael’s from the doorway, snatching both of your attentions as he leans against the frame, eyes tired and regarding you with suppressed amusement. Stepping into your apartment and closing the door Gavin runs to him, joyfully yelling ‘bio!’ while Michael grimaces. The smell of him rolls into your carpet, cold and stinging from the night air, crinkling your nose. He catches your eye, a smirk crossing his face as he motions to your eyes, “looking good.”   
“Thanks,” you smile, suspicious of his presence, “shouldn’t you still be out babysitting Gareth’s man?”  
“About that,” Michael nervously rubs the back of his neck, uncomfortable and defeated, “the shithead killed him and dropped the body at Geoff’s penthouse. Dude knows we’re after him.”


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gareth knows and he’s covering his tracks, destroying all of the crews efforts. It’s time to know how to kill this son of a bitch, once and for all.

Michael’s statement barely has time to register before your already moving, yanking your thick heeled boots onto your feet and collecting your blade, slinging its holster around your hip. Michael keeps talking, sensing your urgency while the three of you exit the apartment and work your way quickly through the hallways. “Geoff’s called everyone back in,” he informs you while Gavin trails close behind, your pace quickening as you all head towards the heist room; the coolness radiating off the concrete and seeping into your bare shoulders, “it’s not looking good.”   
“What does _‘not looking good’_ mean?” you demand while powering on, legs and arms pumping as the men behind you try to maintain your speed,  
“it means everyone we were watching is dead except for one. Trevor and Matt have been locked out and denied access by advanced software and Ryan and Jeremy have already been called in for immediate interrogation.” Now you’re running, powerless to stop your legs from pushing you forward, the two men now panting behind you. Michael snags at your fingers between pained breaths, forcing you to stop and turn to him despite your desperation to keep moving, “We’ll go and get Ray.” You nod at Michael’s words, trying to break free and continue towards the heist room and the promise of answers, but the man’s face twists, “they brought that Garry fuck in.”

“Get Ray” is all you manage, giving his hand a harsh squeeze before tugging away and finishing the rest of your journey in silence, skidding through the kitchen and living quarters before rounding on the desired door. You burst into the heist room breathless and without a second thought, ignoring the gazes that fall on you to approach Jack, her eyes deeply concerned while she mutters on the phone. She doesn’t offer to a smile, instead ordering you to take seat by motioning to an empty chair beside her. Restless you can’t bring yourself to take it, instead pacing back and forth in front of the rest of the crew who watch you anxiously. Michael and Gavin enter the room moments later with Ray, your partner immediately making his way to your side. “Sah, dude?” he jokes weakly, trying to lift the heaviness he could feel draping itself across your shoulders, “what’d I miss?” You begin to explain but fall silence as Jack tosses her phone onto the table, head in her hands and breathing deeply to calm herself.

Finally she lifts her head and faces the group, impatiently pushing away her flaming hair to address the crowd of nervous onlookers. “Gareth knows,” she states into the surprised and concerned murmur of gasps, Lindsay’s eyes widening in panic while Michael reaches instinctively for her hand, “and he’s panicking.” Jack takes another deep, rattling breath, obviously shaken by the ordeal. “Trevor and Matt managed to alert us of his plans before he killed off the first two men we had eyes on,” she continues, “so we managed to extract Gary before he was taken out too. So,” she claps her hands together and turns to you with pleading eyes, “tell me the source came through and we can actually trust him.”

You rack your brain and try to dig up the important information you had managed to compile from Jon’s text journals, feeling your body burning beneath the flames curling up around your ankles. “I’ve been combing through the information since we got back,” you start, directing your words to the fiery red head in front of you, “but there’s a lot of it, Jack. There’s no way I’m going to be able to get through it all in a day.”  
“Well you’re just going to have to go back to the source and extract what you need,” she orders curtly, but Ray pipes in with concern and disapproval,   
“I don’t like the word _‘extract’_ , sounds kinda violent.”   
“It’s supposed to be violent,” she growls at him, “we need to know how the fuck to kill this bastard. So you’re going to go back there and beat the living shit out of him until he gives you an answer!” Her fist comes down hard on the table, the crew flinching away while her words sink in.  
“Oh hell no,” denies Ray, face twisted in disgust, the thought pressing against the morals he’d worked so hard to fashion. Jack however cares little for his moral compass, her eyes smouldering angrily “what did you say?”

“No,” you reply defiantly as her hand raises to rub her face, her patients wearing thin. She knew better than to get into an argument with you, but time was running out.   
“Look, Y/N,” she says in a strained voice, trying to reason with you as quickly as possible, “we don’t have time to play the hero here. Our method is guaranteed to get the most accurate information in the shortest space of time.”   
“Actually, that’s not true,” cuts in Ray, his body language defensive as his arms cross over his chest. You admire his bravery in the face of the vicious woman in front of him, her eyes giving away the fact she was struggling to remain in her spot and not launch across the table at him. “Yeah,” he continues while pulling out his phone and lighting up the screen, “it’s like, a fact that torture doesn’t work cus people just tell you what you want to hear to get away from the absolute agony you’re causing them. I know, weird right? Probably best to just call him.” He presses a few buttons while Jack fumes, tossing you his phone before she can begin hurling insults and orders at him.

Staring down at the screen you see Jon’s name flashing, the soft dials leisurely ringing as you press the phone to your ear, holding your breath; “Ray?” Jon’s voice is strained and raspy from the days he’d spent awake, confusion clear within his tone. “Nah man, it’s me.” Jack continues to stare daggers into your back while you turn away to watch Gavin shuffle uncomfortably until meg walks through the door, his face painfully relieved as he hugs her close, “we’ve got a problem.” Jon clears his throat, the sound of fabric scratching against the receiver as he repositions and you silently curse for interrupting what might have been the first time he’d slept in a week. “What’s up?”   
“Gareth knows” you reply, ignoring Jack’s loud protests as she tries to snatch the phone away, Ray shoving his body between the two of you with his hands up in a warning; face a dramatic grimace. “He’s started cutting ties,” you continue, moving away from your friends and snatching a pen from Jack’s floral front pocket before crawling to sit in the centre of the table with a note pad, “we’ve managed to get a guy out that’ll be able to give us the information we need, but after that we’re fucked.” You hear him pacing back and forth while he listens, and you can almost see the nervous hand shifting through his hair. You put him on speaker and place the phone on your knee, waiting quietly only to hear your heart thumping audible against your ribs, lungs constricting as Jack falls defeated into a seat. “You need to know how to kill him,” he finally concludes with a deep sigh, his voice muffled as he speaks through his fingers. “Y/N, I don’t know if the theory works. It’s just a concept, I haven’t tested it and no one has been able to confirm or deny.”  
“It’s better than the fuck all that we’ve got now,” you state, feeling his nervousness seeping through the phone and sending a chill through your body.   
“It’s not even a complete idea yet,” he insists, but your tapping the pen impatiently,   
“Will it at least slow him down?”   
“That I can guarantee,” he confirms while your attention flicks to Ray, locking eyes with him as he nods,  
“it’s the best we’ve got.”

“Okay,” Jon finally says in a shaky voice, “I’m going to have to come and meet you.”   
“I’ll message you our address,” you start only to be cut off by an infuriated Jack now rising from her seat and pointing an accusatory finger in your direction. This time its Michael and Gavin that rush to your aid, restraining the woman from either side as she spits angrily, disbelieving that you would give away the crew’s location to an outsider. You can hear Michael trying to calm her down, explaining with your blessing that Jon was one of the most trusted men they would ever encounter. Speaking louder you try to get what basic information you can, tossing your own phone to Ray so that he can type in the address and send it through to Jon, “what can you tell me about the process now?”

The sound of Jon exiting his home is accompanied with the static sound of billowing wind, a light beep informing you that he was struggling into his car. “The Egyptians were on the right track,” he states over the engine purring to life, “but it involves a lot more than just removing the organs.”   
“Okay,” you encourage whilst jotting down his words, refusing to meet Jack’s eyes as she reacts to Gavin’s attempts to calm her down, “can’t I just look it up in one of your books?”  
“You could,” Jon admits, “but maybe I want to see my baby sister.”  
“You know you’re on speaker, right?”  
“Ooh,” his joke falters while you try to ignore the shock on the rest of the crew, Trevor and Matt sharing a look before behind to their computers.   
“Hey!” you snarl at them, snapping your fingers to get their attention while you scowl, “don’t you fucking dare start researching him.” They try to complain but Ray just shakes his head at them, and eventually they back down.

“So what is it that you need to show me, that I can’t just find in the book?”  
“I need to bring you the materials,” he states, a car horn blaring loudly as he swerves, his angry cursing muffled by the sound of the car accelerating. “So basically the Egyptians used to remove specific organs during the mummification process and put them into canoptic jars,” he tells you while you frantically scrawl across the pad in your lap, “It was suppose to ready the body so that the spirit could return to it. But they got it backwards, more importantly the removal – from what I was able to find out – of certain organs and limbs, as well as the severing of specific neural pathways in the brain will hinder the regeneration process.”   
“That’s fucking gross” complains Ray, a look of disgust crossing his face while Jon laughs.   
“I know, it’s going to get messy, too. The whole point is to separate the main elements used within the process, like the brain functionality, larger limbs, and organs needed to maintain life before destroying them. Hope is that with the immortal link won’t work once it’s been sufficiently severed.”   
“Oh, this is gonna be so bad,” you groan, stomach flipping uncomfortably as you finish your notes and slide the pad across to Jack, of who has seemingly calmed down, “so what are you bringing?”   
“The jars and the butchers chart.”

Jon’s words cut off quickly, a sharp inhale of breath causing the hairs on the back of your neck to rise. Suddenly the room is filled with the sound of metal screeching as something collides with his car, his yelling forcing you off the table and towards the door without question. “Jon, what’s going on?” you demand while making your way through the base, “Jon?”   
“A car crashed into me,” he groans, voice quickly growing frantic as he becomes aware of the situation unfolding around him, “They’re here. His men are here. Oh god I shouldn’t have threatened them through you on the news this morning. Oh fucking FUCK.”   
“I’m on my way, I’m coming to get you,” you’re sprinting past the empty rooms and charging at the door, pulling into the cool night air with panic rising in your chest as the door slams shut behind you. “I’m down the street by the fucking smoking car, don’t let them see you,” he snaps and you duck into cover, body screaming as Ray pushes through the door seconds later. You grab at his wrist and yank him down beside you, body shaking involuntarily as you listen to your panicking and vulnerable brother. “The notes and jars are under the passenger seat,” he continues, voice growing low as the sound of other people chuckling cut through the receiver.

“Please don’t do anything stupid,” he orders before the line goes dead, leaving you listening to the screams tearing through the air only six buildings down.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An explosion sees Ray and yourself thrust back to the burning building, trapped within your memories. Michael and Jack try their best to get you out of harms way, desperately trying to ease both the physical and mental turmoil. But you only have one thing on your mind - that fuck Gary.

Your body is heaving by the time you’ve raced to the car, air burning in your lungs and throat constricting to the point where your breaths are strangled cries. You don’t have time to look at the mangled wreck of Jon’s car turned on its side or even notice the gently smouldering bonnet; instead falling to your knees and attempting to pry open the door with all your might. The metal sears your finger tips, prints blistering and bubbling as you struggle. Ray is by your side in an instant and his cybernetic fingers curl around the torn metal as he tugs with incredible strength, the driver’s side finally ripping free. Without a seconds thought you’re diving inside the sweltering space feet first, glass digging into your skin and slicing your elbows while you crawl through the ruptured vehicle. Stretching out your leg you try to ignore the compressing walls and curling smoke as the car begins to cook, kicking out your foot with as much force as possible. With a crack and clatter the passenger seat shifts, submitting to allow you access to the content’s trapped within it.

Frantically you’re snatching at the unassuming backpack, unable to hear Ray screaming your name. Your air supply is quickly being cut off, a thick black smoke invading your lungs and nose, the only relief coming from the sight of Jon’s wallet carelessly tossed into the back seat. You thrust your body forward, desperately stretching out your fingers to connect with the leather. In your panicked state you can’t explain the importance of such a personal item, other than the fact that it had simply belonged to him. With a groan you continue to strain, finally managing to grasp it in your fingers before Ray is tugging harshly on your hair. With a yelp he drags you across the glass, yelling wildly before his hands are under your armpits and shuffling you into the open. You hadn’t realised the pain your body was in until fresh air forced its way in, expanding and expelling the smoke with a choking cough.

You can see Ray’s face peering at you through the plumes of thick smoke, his mouth moving but his words inaudible. The experience hurtles you backwards, your body freezing while your mind plays out the burning building, the chocking screams and searing pain. You’re unable to control your limbs, locked into place as the flames begin to chase up the side of the car and roar in your ears. With a loud moaning creak the car collapsed under its own weight, Ray grabbing whatever part of you that he could and ripping you away from the wreckage before it can crush you. Skin skidding across the road leaves gravel to dig into your flesh, the pain finally unravelling your fear and forcing your body to respond. With a cry you scamper back, knocking Ray over as you push away from the flames and crawl onto him. Sharing your terror he instinctively wraps his arms around you, hauling your body on top of his own and rolling you both onto your sides, his back now facing the fire and shielding you from the stray pops of shrapnel bouncing against him.

To regain control you have to force the fear down, paying attention to the feeling of your face buried in Ray’s chest, his legs stiff and entangled in your own while he shakes for what feels like hours. You don’t allow yourself to remain still, gently beginning to remove yourself from the ball you had formed within his arms, “can’t you please stop running into stuff that’s on fire?” he asks weakly, his voice still trembling as you sit up, leaving him curled on the ground. He isn’t strong enough to lift from the floor, instead curling his arms around his knees and staring at the asphalt beneath him. Numbly you shuffle closer to him, rubbing your foot against his knee in the most reassuring motion you can manage, “back in the building, huh?” you say and tentatively he nods, haunted by the flames that had forced the two of you together in an unbreakable bond. Trembling, you being unfurling the wallet you had been clutching in your fingers and poking through it in search of something, anything, of Jon’s to hold on to. “You nearly lost your other leg,” he jokes, his body slowly settling and he is able to pick himself up and sit cross legged, pulling the backpack towards him. “At least then I’d be matching,” you reply, heart aching as you collect the photo of Jon and yourself at a family barbeque when you were six and he was nine, slipping it into your pocket. “Please don’t even joke about it,” he rasps, coughing as the smoke crawls towards you, standing and offering you a hand. You can’t take it, instead looking down at the object you had removed from his wallet, the small key adorned with a ribbon burning in your blistered palm.

“He was giving me a spare key,” you murmur while your fingers curl around it and clench into a fist. You can see yourself quivering, blood pounding angrily in your ears while you try to latch onto the words Ray was saying to Jack and Michael, the two of them running towards you. Then Michael’s face is in front of your own, his eyes pleading for you to cooperates, “we’ve gotta move. This thing’s gonna blow as soon as the spark hits fuel.” You try to nod but your head only rattles, lost within yourself. With a nervous grimace he holds his hands out, your silence giving him the courage to swiftly lift you up and over his shoulder. His face burn as he runs back to the base, your ass being pointedly ignored while it brushes against his cheek. You can see Ray struggling to keep pace, his own legs wanting to give out while his body begs to succumb to shock. You offer him a hand, beckoning him to keep going while your stomach teases the possibility of vomiting. The sight of it gives him the energy to push forward until Jack swings him onto her back, the strong woman piggybacking him across the road as a deafening explosion rattles through the street, hood caps and scraps of metal pelting into the air before clattering onto the pavements.

Out of harm’s way Michael turns to Jack and waits for a direction, the red head now out of sight as you fold over Michael’s shoulder, his hands behind your knees to steady your balance against him. “Med bay,” Jack instructs, bouncing Ray up on her back to get a better grip, “We’ll have to treat the burns.” Michael’s moving again, the bumpy swaying of your body a welcome discomfort to the dark holes your mind was delving down. You try to focus you dizzy and confused mind on the motion, swinging with it as he carries you into the base and looping through the halls, “what do we do about the shock?”   
“I don’t know,” Jack admits to the wild man as she pushes past him to open the door to the medical facility, Ray pale and limp on her back, “shock isn’t as easy to fix as burns.”

Michael carefully lowers you onto one of the sterile tables littering the room, lifting your chin up with his index finger to force you to look at him. His face is determined despite the softness of his eyes, “it’s gonna be okay.” You can feel your head shaking, your mouth opening and closing as though words will somehow form and present all of the emotions flooding through your body and paralysing your mind, but nothing comes. Instead he squishes your cheeks between his palms and makes quite little _‘beep beep boop’_ noises, warmth returning to your skin as you accept the rare display of affection generally saved for Lindsay during awkward inappropriate times. Somehow you manage to unlock your voice box, your vocal cords reverberating and cracking as you repeat his comfort in a small, childlike voice, “boop.” A wide, unguarded smile stretches across his face, thrusting his already youthful face into the realm of an innocence he’d long since left behind before he pokes the tip of your nose, “it’s gonna be okay.”   
“It’s gonna be okay,” you mirror, a broken but stubborn smile curling up the corners of your lips.

Looking down at your hands you slowly unfurl your fingers, the ligaments aching and stiff to reveal the key nestled between your quickly oozing blisters and the blood pooling within the cracks of your palms. You aren’t sure how long you’re entranced by the sight, but long enough for Michael to move and comfort one of his oldest friends and for Jack to take his place. Despite her long, elegant fingers her skin is surprisingly coarse as she takes your free hand in her own and begins to apply the burn cream. You’re faintly aware of Gavin entering the room and handing out blankets, tossing them across your shoulders to keep you warm. Your eyes meet Gavin’s, holding his gaze as he watches you sadly around Jack, his attention turning to the gold dusting your eyes. To him you are still powerful, you do not slump in your seat while Jack works, your outer demeanour keeping the inner turmoil a secret. Gavin would always see you as strong, you were always the woman that fought through the tears and screamed into the night. He looked up to you, and was so incredibly proud of you for embracing your emotions to truly become the Cheshire. Decisively he nods to you, “not feeling is boring.”  
Your lips twitch upwards, the motion far easier now that the warmth of the room was seeping into your skin and banishing the cold set of your muscles, “and I’m not boring.”  
“No,” he smiles, jabbing a finger at you, “you’re bloody not.”

Ray clears his throat loudly, demanding Gavin’s attention as he stares at the golden boy with wide impatient eyes, “am I boring?”   
“you’re the most boring”  
“Oh, c’mon!” he exclaims while Gavin giggles, your heart leaping as he finally seems to be coming back to himself. You feel Jack try and pry the key from your remaining hand, sucking in a sharp breath as the metal peels away a few layers of skin as it’s removed. “Sorry,” apologises Jack, her eyes soft as Gavin leaves the room with Michael to find a task that required their assistance. “It’s okay,” you reply to Jack, eyes drifting across Ray as he curls up on his table, cocooning the blanket around him and squeezing his eyes shut. Silently you see a tear trace its way down his cheek as he concentrates, and you can almost hear the numbers as he counts backwards to ease the tension in his chest; muffled within the roaring of nonexistent flames. “I mean for wanting to torture your...brother,” she admits, struggling with the concept as you return your gaze to her. You feel yourself shrug heavily, flinching as she turns her attention to your skinned knuckles. “You didn’t know,” you reassure her, but she isn’t convinced.  
“Exactly, I didn’t know,” her eyes search your own, hurt swirling within them, “why couldn’t you tell me? You told me about Ryan, about Amber,” your eyes brim with tears at the sound of her name, her deep brown eyes sparkling in your mind while it tries to reject the image; “but you didn’t tell me about your brother.”

“I tell you about the painful and confusing things,” you reply, watching as she wraps your hands tightly in bandages, “and Jon is a very good thing. A thing I’ll protect with my now immensely prolonged life.”   
“Do you really think we’d hurt him?” her words snap at you and rouse Ray into sitting, removing his glasses to rub at his eyes. “No you’d never, but my links to the crew are a different story. This whole ordeal is because of me, he’s suffering because he’s the Cheshire’s brother.” You slide off the table and shrug off the blanket, having no patience for more peasantries and warm feelings; “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”   
“Don’t be,” you state, waving away her words, causing her to take her bottom lip between her teeth, “how can I make it up to you?”   
“Tell me where Gary is.”


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Major torture and intense violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you be interested in buying Cinders as an actual novel? I've had some interest already, and thought i'd check it out here!

You’re out of the medical bay and on the street in minutes, ignoring the stinging discomfort shooting through your knuckles as you yank on your tactical gloves, the inbuilt brass snug against your tender skin. You don’t break pace while heading towards the garage, swinging onto your motorbike in a smooth motion and pulling on your helmet as Ray gets on behind you; arms tight around your waist. The engine purrs and drowns out the blood pumping through your ears, bodies racing far too quickly through the streets, pummelled by the oncoming rain. Clouds roll behind you, a storm looming and crackling across the early morning sky – fissures of light burning your retinas like the anger flaming within your chest. It isn’t long until Ray points out the abandoned warehouse and it’s boarded up windows, curbing your speed as you enter the empty parking lot and dismount the bike. The rain continues to plummet to earth, hitting hard enough to bounce across the pavement and create slick, dangerous puddles for you to manoeuvre over in your haste.

Still, you don’t stop running until your palms press against the cool door at the side of the building, forcing it open and stepping inside the small, cramped space. Geoff jumps at your entrance, whirling round with wide eyes to watch as you storm in and hip bumping the intercom mic - a feedback shriek setting your teeth on edge.  “Mind if I tag in?” your words fall on deaf ears for a moment as Geoff assesses your eyes burning with anger, smouldering within wild gold and splatters of soot, only offering you a flustered response after your second prompt. His gaze shifts to Ray, looking for some direction, but the man beside you simply shrugs at Geoff’s stammers before he pulls out the butcher’s directions Jon had given you. Dragging his attention away Ray begins to cover the past hour or so, filling Geoff in while you watch the Vagabond and Rimmy Tim. 

Shielded by glass is an expansive room, cracks litter the walls and stains seep in clumsy patterns across the floor beneath their feet. Cold shooting through to your body, setting in your bones as you watch their victim struggle, Rimmy bouncing and exhilarated while the Vagabond remains calm and stationary. The shorter carefully circles Garry as he sits on his knees between them, shoulders trembling with each intimidating footstep. A crack of Rimmy’s foot sees the man’s head snapping back, body toppling over with the force. In a flash of purple Rimmy is sit on his chest, laying in punch after punch, pummelling Garry’s head in through the screams. With each withdrawal his knuckles are further bloodied and bruised, the Vagabond having to place a cautioning hand on the younger man’s shoulder to stop him from killing the man.

You lean forward, finger finding the button for the intercom and the men at work pausing to listen, “Tag out, Rim Tim.” The Vagabond turns to face the glass, face twitching as he tries to suppress a smile while Rimmy Tim sighs heavily; stepping up and away from Garry, planting a foot against his throat. “Rim Tim, really?” he grumbles half heartedly, ignoring the man struggling for breath around his shoe. You raise an eyebrow at his defiance before continuing, unable to shake the ridiculousness of his hat from your mind, “Tim Tam, get your ass outta there.” Ryan somehow manages to force a snigger through the Vagabond’s lips, catching him by surprise and prompting Rimmy to move towards the exit; mumbling under his breath about Tim Tams. Before he leaves he’s snatching at one of the Vagabond’s throwing knives, letting it fly at the body; swearing and accepting the Vagabond’s reassuring shoulder pat as he misses. 

A moment later he’s pushing out of the door, Rimmy Tim dropping to reveal an anxious and jittery Jeremy beneath. He holds his hands up in defence before losing himself in the glittering gold and black encasing your eyes and splattering across your cheeks. Words escape him as he stares at you, never truly seeing you as the Cheshire until now, her power unequivocal to anything he had ever experienced and more beautiful and terrifying than he ever thought possible. He sees Y/N sparkle within the Cheshire’s eyes, forcing him back to reality, words now flowing far too freely, “I know you’re angry that we didn’t tell you, and I get that this is kinda important but Ryan and I are battle buddies and this is what we do and I actually really appreciated Tim Tam...” he trails off as you readjust the bandana, body uncomfortably cold and restless under his gaze and the weight of the situation. “They’ve got Jon” is all you say, pushing past the small man and heading towards the door, certain the Vagabond had heard you over the sizzling and screaming of a hot poker and the broken man.

You don’t acknowledge Garry squirming on the floor, rather focusing your attention on the table stretching out in front of you littered with a multitude of varying weapons, shedding your personal items and studying your options. Behind you the Vagabond is wrestling your victim to his feet, forcing him before you with a strong hand before shifting off to the side. Urgency tugs at your resolve, urging you to hurry but the Cheshire stuffs it down.  _You were going to enjoy this_ , you told yourself as you select a modified soft ball bat, the metal welded together with viciously sharp nails. “So, some introductions might be best,” you tease, returning your gaze to the pitiful man, absolutely terrified as you pull your bandana down to pool around your neck; “I’m the Cheshire.” Your statement doesn’t surprise him, rather breaking him further and leaving him in a pile of apologetic grovelling, attempting to repent for the sins he’d committed against you. “I mean, you know of me I’m sure. Skully and I have been around for a while, after all,” you motion to the Vagabond who doesn’t outwardly react to your words, his eyes shifting in acknowledges, “we’re as much legends as we are nightmare fuel. We have the highest kill count in crew history, even before you combine our jobs; and by god do we pride ourselves on creativity. Yet, you seemed to have trouble recognising the Cheshire last time we met.”

In a wicked swing the bat smashes into the side of his head, shrill vibrations ringing out and clawing up the walls to escape his strangled screams. Playfully you twirl the weapon, staring down at the man struggling to contain his sobs – curled at you feet and muttering pleases into the ground. With a sigh you lower yourself into a squat, leaning into the bat to regard him with cold eyes, his fear palpable and bitter against your tongue. “Small world, huh?” he flinches away from your worlds, body convulsing as terror and pain ricocheted between his ribs and throb behind his eyes. Somehow he manages to face you, but his words can’t escape his lips; banished into silence from the sight of your heinous smile and the wickedly amused glint in your eyes. “C’mon,” you prompt, hand making its way to gently touch his shoulder, his sweat sticking his shirt to his back and clinging to your fingers, “we’re all friends here, Garry.”

A sharp squeak scratches from his windpipe, careering between the bruises perfectly matched to the Vagabond’s vice grip. As panic flits through his watery pale eyes you offer him an encouraging smile, lips stretching to crack across your bared teeth; but he doesn’t appreciate it. Rather he shrinks away, scampering across the uneven floor to escape you and search for some form of refuge. You stand, knees creaking in protest as you watch him go, boredom conducting your features and draping across your shoulders. An eye roll towards the Vagabond sees him moving, the small throwing knife he had been tracing his fingers across whipping through the air to embed itself into ground through your victim’s hand. His howls lap at your resolve, tingling across your skin and circling your shoulders, eyes closing momentarily while you sink into the feeling. The Vagabond returns to his distraction, lazily watching you around playing with his knives without a care in the world. Garry’s soft whimpers barely register as you approach, bat dragging across the floor and the nails catching in the cracks while you look at him reproachfully. “You know,” you note, tone saturated with disinterest, deadly intentions pulsating around you like an aura “it’s really no fun when you don’t fight back.”

Swooping down you snatch the knife from his hand, blood spurting up your forearm when setting him free, nonchalantly tossing it back to the Vagabond – who catches it without looking at you. “We’re going to try this again,” you tell him sternly, scolding his uncooperative efforts, “and you’re going to help out this time.” He clutches his hand to his chest, thumb desperately trying to plug the hole in his palm as he pants, eyes darting fearfully up to your icily calm person. “It’s really in everyone’s best interest,” you continue, fists full of the front of his shirt and hauling him up to standing, the back of his head smashing wetly against the wall you hold him too, “and we’ll both be able to get some sleep.” You study him as he cowers, splatted with blooming bruises and intricate traces of blood, cracking around the angles of his face. “Now, where’s Gareth?” the sweetness in your tone is sickly, lashing against the man you’re currently crushing against the space’s confines. His eyes bug out, face turning a deep shade of beetroot as a vein bulges and snakes through his neck, “I... I don’t know!” With a delicate smile you lower him back to the ground, holding his elbows to help balance him before revelling in the confused relief taking refuse in his eyes, “wrong answer.” Your knuckles collide with his nose, breaking the fractures that had begun healing since your last encounter, blood splattering and dousing the walls. Ignoring the screaming pain stinging across your raw knuckles you motion to the Vagabond, of who silently drags a metal chair into the centre of the room. While he leans down to collect Garry’s broken body and place him securely into the chair, you can’t help but admire him. Despite the darkening blood plastered to his face and clumping in his hair he was completely at ease, a gentle smirk dancing across his lips as he plants his hands on Garry’s shoulders and flexes.

You flash him a twisted smile, watches as the Vagabond’s eyes twinkle with a distorted mixture of affection and amusement, “thanks, sweetheart.” At your words Garry begins to struggle frantically, finally piecing your relationship together and realising the steadily increasing danger he was in. The Vagabond shows you a rare smile as he steps back, hands expertly entrapping Garry and sealing off his escapes before waving a throwing knife at you. Your eyes are trained on your victim squirming in front of you as the Vagabond drifts behind you, leaning against the wall and watching your back, blade twirling through his fingertips. With a sad sigh you cross the room to hover over the man, looking down at him with disappointment like daggers, prickling the hairs dusting your neck and twisting in his stomach. “I was really hoping we could get over what happened last time,” you admit, abandoning your bat to the floor with a clatter, catching the modified and enlarged wire strippers Vagabond tosses to you, eyes refusing to stray from the dish water they were swimming in, “you know, when you butchered my leg?” At your words Garry’s mouth opens and closes desperately, words mangled and unintelligible, unable to stop you from continuing. “I mean, I know you weren’t really its biggest fan,” you hold it out, glancing down at it absentmindedly to watch the gentle glowing lights fade through your jeans, putting it down and shifting your foot above his, “but it can do some pretty cool stuff.” He’s shaking his head, sweat splashing against your face and coating your lips in salt, uncomfortably warm against the nauseatingly cold temperature your skin had fallen too. “Do you wanna hear something fun?” This time the catches in his breath to form clumsy words, begging you to have mercy and stop, for the love of god just stop; but your lips are already twitching into a cruel smile. “I’ll be able to break every bone in your body without exerting any effort at all,” you giggle girlishly and run a hand through your windswept hair under his terrified gaze, “isn’t that neat?” You feel bones crunching beneath your boot before his screams register, his thrashing grinding the bone that snaps through the skin into the sole of your shoe, blood puddling quickly across the floor; “oops.”

You can’t help the dark chuckle that works its way of your chapped lips, overjoyed by the pale green that seeps into his skin as you move away and his eyes fall on the damage you’d left behind. Torn and twisted, it looks oddly similar to your own once crushed under the collapsing concrete, but in this state the thought had no purchase, the Cheshire remaining untouchable. “I am so sorry, I’m just so clumsy!” you exclaim, turning to Vagabond, his head nodding in affirmation, “I really hope it doesn’t happen again, I do tend to make quite a mess.” You weigh the wire strippers in your hand, eyes intent on Garry as he refuses to acknowledge them, pouring sweat and blood. “Trust me when I tell you that I’m better at this than you were,” you growl, “and I don’t give a shit that torture isn’t an appropriate way to obtain credible information, because right now facts just won’t stop me.” You can see him trying to process your words through the constant pounding of blood filling his ears, drowning his thoughts in a room filling with unimaginable fear and pain. His eyes flit across your face and sobs tumble from his lips at the sight of contempt lining your features, corruption shifting with every shimmer of gold.

You don’t hesitate when you snatch his wrist between your fingers, his skin bruising within your grip until you snap the modified wire cutter over his left index finger. The blade immediately scores his flesh, a shocked yell meeting your smile as you address him, “You really should be thanking us, you know.” At your words his eyes grow wide in disbelief before his shrieks take over while you spin the cutters, slicing through his skin in one rotation. Through his tears he begs for forgiveness, but yours shaking your head and biting your bottom lip before de-gloving his finger in a quick swoop. Dragging the skin away it resists and tugs while he thrashes, finally clinging by a section no larger than the head of a thumbtack to his finger tip. “How is this saving my life?!” he cries, glaring at you accusingly while you shrug, unaffected, “isn’t it better for us to kill you, rather than your boss?”   
“What?” You don’t spare him time to continue his line of questioning, forcing the wire stripper onto another finger and repeating the action with far more pressure, the skin coming off clean and tips curling over itself. “Oh yeah,” you reply conversationally, flicking the skin away, “he killed off every man we had eyes on; nearly got to you, too. Sucks, huh? I hope you had good health insurance.” You study his face, beneath the agony racking through his body and blinding fear he looks shaken by your statement. Pressing him further you crouch down and rest your arms on his trembling knees, patting the inside of his thigh with the cutters threateningly, “so why would Gareth start killing off his own men?” You watch Garry stammer, feeling his skin tense and crawl away from you while the cutters lean towards his manhood.  
“I, I really don’t,” you stand and whip a back hand across his face, brass knuckles shifting painfully across your wounds and tearing open his eyelid.  
“I’m fucking tired of that answer, why don’t you give me something to work with?!” The anger tries to get the better of you, panic swelling in your chest while your mind momentarily jumps to Jon – you didn’t know how long you had until time started running out.

“Why would Gareth meticulously kill each of his men, smash their skulls, and take a chunk of their brain?” you try to calm yourself down, feeling the Vagabond’s eyes burning holes in your back and urging you to settle before he has to intervene. You almost don’t hear Garry’s response, only managing to grasp at the tail end of his whisper; “the chip.”   
“What chip?” you demand, watching him panic and try and collect his scattered thoughts and formulate an answer that might spare him some relief, “he put chips in our brain. Tracking, it was used for tracking.”  
“That seems like a lot of effort for wanting to keep tabs on people.”   
“It was a, err... like a test,” you smile encouragingly at him, tempting him to continue, “it didn’t work, he tried to control brain waves or something and it just turned into tracking.” His words bubble quickly and you struggle to keep up, trying to discern his voice from Jon’s as his super soldier comment swims through your head. “Wouldn’t want us knowing what he’s trying to upload, huh?” you muse quietly, tossing the cutters back to the Vagabond, not watching as he stashes them away. You feel your face set into a mask void of emotion while you consider the man in front of you, his vain hopes of freedom in return for information being dashed by the darkness smoking over your eyes, “you have one.” It isn’t a question, instead the statement crashing through his flood gates and breaking what little resolve he had left. “You’re going to start talking while we get our resident technician out here,” you instruct, but he isn’t complying, blubbing into his chest and choking on blood,   
“where’s Gareth?”

With an elegant twirl you’re gripping the back of his chair and dragging him backwards, hurling him against the wall before you’re in front of him again, manic face blocking the Vagabond from sight, a flash of the blades accompanying him and sharpening Garry’s mind. “I don’t know where he is,” he manages, spitting the words between his teeth while you look at him in disgust. You tilt your head slightly, a knife shooting past the corner of your jaw and billowing through your hair, lodging into his shoulder amidst his yells. You don’t turn to see the Vagabond smiling sadistically and pulling out another blade, instead shifting to the right as the next danger hurtles towards Garry, slicing through his ear. With a howl he tries to press the side of his head to his shoulder, gushes of blood pouring like a river across his neck while his ear hangs limp. Reaching out you coo comfort at him, fingers curling around his partially severed ear before ripping it free, tossing it aside for the Vagabond to catch mid flight and spear to the back wall with the tip of a blade. 

“Look, I’m a patient woman,” you sympathise, stroking back his dirty blond while you circle him, resting your chin on your hands and directing his face to the Vagabond, “but Skully here doesn’t respond kindly to people that waste our time.” You smile lovingly at the Vagabond as he approaches, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders, eyes never leaving his prey while he clutches a packet of nails and a hammer. “I sure hope you’re not immortal and that’s why he’s after your chip, for your sake,” patting Garry’s cheek you step back, voice a chilling whisper in his ear, “because he’s far worse than me.” Within an instant the Vagabond tears his blades from the man’s body, blood trails freckling across your faces, and the Cheshire and Vagabond are left beaming through Gary’s unnerving screams. 

Taking another step back you hold out your hands, proudly offering Gary to the man in front of you as he bends to place a nail against his leg, “he’s all yours, honey.”

    
“Thanks dear.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: INTENSE VIOLENCE, GRAPHIC CONTENT AND TORTURE.

You can’t watch as the Vagabond drives the first nail through Garry’s leg above the knee, your own cybernetic burning at the memory and drowned out by his screams. Rather you stare at yourself in the reflection of the glass dividing you from the rest of the world, straining to see some hint of Ray. It doesn’t take long until his deep coffee eyes swirl to greet you, barely visible and shifting within your own. Still, relief crashes through you in waves, momentarily losing your hold on the Cheshire and flitting back to the panicked Y/N immensely disturbed by your own actions. Ray's face twists in sympathy, recognising the struggle despite the emotionless expression smoothing over your features, tracing the arch of your eyebrow and curving with the contempt of your bottom lip. It had been years since so much blood had been on your hands. Years since the Cheshire had been allowed out of her cage to play with her prey. Ray and you had vowed to be quick and effective once leaving the crew, no unnecessary pain or violence to get in the way of you doing things as efficiently and clean as possible. It had been easier to keep the anger at bay and expelled from your body, not allowing yourself to fall back into the destruction you’d once enjoyed. Despite the nightmares hurling the faces of victims at you, their mouths torn open in terror, you’d been given the opportunity to separate yourself from lingering in the pain. Interrogations had admittedly taken longer, but you were no longer handing over control to the malicious rage shaking against your ribs. And yet here you were, staring at the Cheshire’s manic and cruel smile in the glass, blood coating her skin and splattering across her face alight with victory.

Ray knew he wasn’t looking at you through the glass, instead watching a woman he had hoped to never see again. Cruelty dictated every smooth motion, her breathing steady and measured as you stand before him - eyes screaming to be freed from the pain the Cheshire had been inflicting. He knew you too well at this point, easily recognising the subtle shifts between the Cheshire and yourself; but that’s not to say he didn’t fear her. Quite the opposite, her twisted smile would tie knots in his chest. The high she would ride in the face of pain sickening in his stomach. He shifts closer, pressing his palm against the glass while Geoff and Jeremy's voices drift away; taking with it their talk of future moves. His heart leaps hopefully at the sight of your hand twitching towards him, fingers curling with the desperate need to press against the glass. Disappointment flashes through your eyes, but the emotion is misdirected. He can almost taste the bitterness you held towards yourself, and he wanted nothing more than to burst into the room and drag you into the rain; away from the Cheshire and her destruction. He hadn’t seen you lose control like this in such a long time that he is genuinely fearful, having to force himself to recount the fact that you were still trapped inside. Alone and screaming while the Cheshire conducted her will with intense viciousness.  

The sight of his palm on the glass shakes you, resolve waving while you yearn for the calm nature of your closest friend. You would never have imagined that Ray would become such a major part of your life or your recovery from the first time you’d heard his name. Originally being sceptical of Jon's suggestion of a one-off team mate; it had been Ryan that had convinced you to give him a shot. Since then the two of you had been inseparable, the current distance aching in your chest. All he had ever done is support you. A snark piece of advice accompanied with a warm smile. Never once had he pushed you. Instead he always seemed to know your boundaries before you’d gotten around to setting them up. He was a better friend than you could ever be and better than what at some points you felt you deserved, but that didn’t stop you from trying. He's proven himself time and time again, from being your brother to being the godfather to your daughter. And in those times never once did he let you down; fighting with you until the end. Through the brightest times and the tears, Ray would always forgive you – just like he was doing now.

You quickly lean against the mirror, pressing your back to it and lazily watching the Vagabond drive another nail through Garry, despite your eyes darting frantically across the curve of his shoulder blades. The sight of Ray's empathetic gaze had forced the rage that fogged your mind outwards, burning away the Cheshire so that you could see; even for a fractured second. You pushed back against her. Fighting tooth and claw to drag control back and clear her from your thoughts. Feeling your sudden discomfort throbbing around your calm demeanour like an aura the Vagabond pauses, hammer hovering above the next nail angled to drive under the man’s knee cap. You fully expected the Vagabond to continue, to block you from Garry so that you could collect yourself, but instead Ryan forces himself to stop. With an irritated hum masked as a dark chuckle the Vagabond stands, abandoning the nail and the man blubbering before him. His eyes are on you. Face chiselled from stone and unmoving as he approaches despite Ryan shifting uncomfortably within his eyes, acknowledging your pain as if it were his own.

“time to start the clean up?" your voice is teasing and polite, but you know Ryan senses your relief, worming a smile out from between the Vagabond’s clenched teeth,   
"I think that'd be for the best.” You try to contain the surprise rushing through your veins at the soft sound of Ryan’s plea; the deep harshness of the Vagabond fading momentarily to give you what little supporting comfort he could. You rap your knuckles against the glass, Ray's hand bashing against your own to recognise the guilt deep in your chest; offering what you take as a reassuring gesture. Your eyes don’t leave Ryan's as they shine through the paint smudging his face, flinching as the door slams open and Rimmy Tim strolls cheerfully in - Ray trailing behind. You move to close the door after them while Rimmy forges into the centre of the room, Ray's shoulder brushing past your own and filling your heart with something you can only describe as warm, uncomfortably sweet, and heavy with understanding. "Someone call for a cleanup in aisle three?" he teases, voice booming through the silence that had fallen and shaking Garry's subsiding sobs. His eyes dart to Ray as he smiles down at the man, a stark contrast against Rimmy Tim's vicious grin and broad shoulders.

Again he starts to panic, begging for his life and grovelling into the floor, Ray's eyes clouding over and taking offence at the idea he would continue with the torturing efforts. "Oh no, don’t worry man," he says in what you suspect to be a difficult and stifled reassurance, "I don’t do that shit, and Chess," he waves ambiguously in your direction before pulling a displeased frown, "well, you just caught her on a bad day. Resisting temptation’s hard for the best of us." His defence of you actions doesn’t go unnoticed; The Vagabond’s eyebrow twitching as he considers his words and questions you while sinking into internal guilt. Despite the morality smashing your heart against your ribs your voice remains polite and emotionless, "we all relapse now and again."  
"You’ll get it next time," Ray encourages, refusing to watch Rimmy readjust Garry's binds, grin never leaving his face, "a year and a bit is a new record, though. We’ll work on it." You can see that he's trying to ease your discomfort, but the Cheshire watches him with a chill while he turns to Garry. "Gotta stay positive" is all you can muster.

"Hey, I’m sorry dude," apologises Ray before moving over to the table and selecting a scalpel from the weapon contents, "but you've gotta be awake for this. But you know its okay," he returns to Garry, smiling pitifully down while he wields the surgical blade, "cus you’re an asshole so I don’t feel that bad." Rimmy doesn't have to be prompted, his arms quickly holding Garry in a tight head lock and angling his forehead for Ray. With a grimace he moves closer, the man’s panic shrill in your ears. As Ray presses the tiny blade to his skin the screaming intensifies, the Vagabond shifting to block the sight with his back, forcing Ryan to face the scene and spare you the nightmare fuel. The sound of slicing tugging around Garry’s skull sets you teeth on edge, before the sound of his scalp peeling back churns in your stomach. You don’t have to look at Ray's face to know that it is turned down in disgust, blood pouring into Garry's eyes and filling his mouth. Ripping free his scalp Ray quickly discards it to the floor, the skin cap sliding to bump against the opposite wall.

Leaving for a moment Ray returns to begin chiselling through the skull, cracking it open and removing it with ease. "Can you scan it from there?" inquires Rimmy curiously, eyeing the brain matter squirming in front of him. Ray shakes his head, “I could, but it would be better to have the chip, otherwise we might miss something encrypted on the first go." And with that he’s plunging his hand into his skull, fingers clasping around a small piece of metal before yanking it out and grinning victoriously. “That’s a wrap, guys," he beams shaking off excess blood and moving quickly towards the door, “I’d like to thank everyone for coming. If you need me I'll be in the bathroom puking up my guts." You clap respectfully as he leaves, Jeremy casting a glance in your direction while mirroring your claps before motioning to what was once a man "do the honours, would you?"

And then the Vagabond is the only one left in the room with you, watching closely as you approach through Garry's whimpers; untying him and letting his body fall to the floor. You roll him onto his back amidst his sobbing, not granting yourself the opportunity to stop and consider what you're doing. Instead you use your boot to turn his head, pressing his cheek against the concrete floor, “Sorry we had to drag this out. I’m normally a lot cleaner." You feel his skin wriggling beneath the weight of your foot, positioning yourself over him to study his struggle without distraction. Feeling nothing but emptiness in your chest and allowing yourself a selfish moment of destruction; "this one’s for Jon." Then you’re slamming your foot down, watching as the side of his skull begins to crush beneath your cybernetic while his screams increase in intensity. His eyes begging to bulge as you double the pressure, strength coming easily until the bone cracks and caves in on itself. Blood and brain matter spread across the floor and walls in spurts, coating you in splatters of bio debris until the scream subsides abruptly, foot connecting with the floor beneath and his skull; shattering into a pulpy mess.

Shaking out your hands an exhausted sigh escapes your lips, unable to look at the mangled and unrecognisable corpse lying at your feet. You don't even look at the Vagabond while you scrape the underside of your shoe on Gary's shirt; moving to escape the room in a slow and dizzy haze. Silently you slip out of the room and accept Jeremy’s understanding smile, the black eye blooming beneath a cut from the initial struggle tracing his eye socket unable to dampen his spirits. “You’re a fucking mess,” you tell him, lifting his face to get a better look at his eye with a delicate finger to direct his chin. The blush rising in his cheeks tingles against your fingertips before you release him with a sigh, “you’re lucky you don’t need stitches for that,”  
“I’m hoping for a cool scar.”  
“Why?”  
“Scars are badass, and Team Acid Trip needs to be as fucking awesome as possible. That means scars.” You hold up a finger, feeling the adrenaline that had bounces between the bodies in the room slowly dissipating, “Acid Trip?” Jeremy shrugs at you, looking proud of himself with a puff of his chest and the straightening of his spine. “It the best I could come up with.” He looks at you for approval, faltering in your silence until a sleepy and impresses smile tugs at your lips; "I actually like it.”  
“Score!”  
"But I’m saying no to matching scars.”   
"Damn it.”   
“Can’t win them all,” yells Ray from the bathroom, poking his greening face around the corner to level with Jeremy, stepping into the space. Before you can greet him he’s gagging at the sight of the brain matter dotting your skin and sticking to your clothes – disappearing outside in a dry hacking heave.

 You want to rush to him but Geoff’s arm comes around your shoulders, jostling you in what you assume is intended as a comforting gesture, though lacks such emotion due to the man’s anxiety. “You did good, kiddo,” Geoff praises, voice cracking as his eyes dart across your face, still shaken by the whole ordeal. Despite his brutal and callous leadership, Geoff had a surprisingly weak stomach; his nose crinkling at the smell of warm festering flesh resonating from you. However you don’t realise that you’re shaking until Geoff turns you to face him, shifting immediately from a bundle of nerves into a bundle of nerves in the form of a father figure.  His eyes are determined, peering out through the bags etched into his face, “we’re going to get him back. Once Ray gets his head outta the toilet and does that magic technological bullshit we’ll have a direction.”   
“It’s not going to be soon enough. Understanding the coding could take days, and we don’t even have hours.” The strain pulling against your voice box is obvious, the exhilaration of the past hour finally crashing through your body and throwing you into a sleep deprived stupor.

The room sways with you, vision blurred and a sharp pain shooting through your temple in time with each crack of lightening as Ray enters the warehouse. “Fuckin’ rainin’,” he observes, jabbing a thumb to the door while he shakes out his saturated hair, face still pale and shallow. “Storms’a comin’” Jeremy joins in with a rasp, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head in warning, waggling a finger “it’s the season.” Ray barks out a laugh, eyes coming to rest on you. His cheer fades slightly as he takes in your expression, hesitating when placing a wet and cooling palm against your burning forehead. “Jesus, Y/N, you still with us?”  
“Unfortunately,” you groan, letting him take some of your dead weight, flinching at the sound of Garry’s body thudding against the floor while the Vagabond cleans away what he can, “nothing knocks your duck off, does it?”  
“Gavin has broken you, what are you trying to say to me?”  
“How are you so happy?”   
“Oh! Same as always – I’m oblivious to the world,” Ray waggles his eyebrows mischievously at the small chuckle that resonates from you, eyes drifting closed before you force them open again. “I’m serious, all I want to do is kick and scream and cry,” you motion a wobbly hand towards your best friend, of who rushes to give you an inappropriately timed high five, grinning wildly; “and you’re here like nothing’s wrong.”  
“You’ve gotta keep going, one step at a time. Otherwise the stuff you can’t do anything about will ruin you,” Geoff offers helpfully, ears perking as the door to the interrogation room opens, the Vagabond entering the space.

“You need sleep,” continues Geoff scoldingly, moustache twitching as he watches you struggle before turning his attention to a slowly surfacing Ryan, “both of you.”   
“You’re going to need me,” complains the remaining dregs of the Vagabond, battling to stay above the yawn expelling from Ryan and infecting your own. “Don’t get all high and mighty,” Geoff quips, directing both Jeremy and Ray towards the door with a strong push on the shoulder, “we’ve got this covered. Go fucking sleep.” He looks at you pointedly and tries for reason, “there’s no point panicking. You’ve done all you can, if you want to help, work on being in the best condition you can be.” Too tired to argue you nod sleepily, not having realised how long you’d been awake.

Holding your arms up you open and close your fists, Ryan giving you a relieved sigh before bending down and hugging you. Winding your arms around his neck his hands go to your thighs, lifting you up so that you can clasp your legs around his waist, face nuzzled into his neck as you slowly begin to drift. You don’t notice the goodbyes of your friends nor the rain steadily pattering against the top of your head, body relaxing in the slow breathing and movements of Ryan as he carries you home.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it all comes crashing down.

The water doesn’t sting as much as you’d expected. Steam clagging in your throat as you breathe it in, swirling in your lungs and clinging to your ribs. The spray thuds rhythmically against your shoulders, massaging away the tension and smoothing out the knots. Pooling by your feet the day lingers between your toes, running crimson while you stare down at your legs, a perfect complement to the incessant throbbing of the bright red lights humming along your calf and shrinking into your ankle. Each drop of water tracing along the curves of your body drags you down within yourself, slumping against the wall in exhaustion. The only thing holding you up are his strong hands, gentle as they run through your hair and wipe away the blood matting it down against your scalp. Soap trickles down your neck and between your breasts, mingling with the dark matter twirling against the tiles and seeping into the drain. With each cascade of water pushed through your hair you lose yourself, mind wandering through nothingness to the sound of Ryan’s steady breathing.

How you wish you could stay in the strange world of intoxicating steam forever, let the swirling mist and dewing droplets take over your body and subdue you into tranquillity. A world where the days would just wash away, Ryan’s stroking away the pain with every pass his hands made through your hair. Carefully he turns you to face him. Your eyes fall on the angles of his feet and curves of his legs, water streaming through the hair and past his large thighs to disappear down the drain. You move with him, chin following the finger angling your face upwards to meet his warm kind eyes. The tentative tugging against your cheek swipes away the black and gold you’d hidden behind, shimmer clinging to his eyelashes as he rubs away the drunken sleep forcing his lids to flutter. Everything feels bruised, your skin beneath his working fingers tender and sensitive. Still he continues to shed the Cheshire from you, meticulously removing every trace until you stand before him; drained and vulnerable. He draws a final thumb across your cheek, your face rolling into the touch of his palm and letting the warmth sting against your lips.

It’s harder for you to help Ryan wash away the sins tangled in his hair. He lowers himself down to the floor of the shower, water parting around his body as he crosses his legs, eyes burning into his hands. Moving over him you kneel, cupping the relief and rushing it through his locks until the blond begins to shine. Each pass loosens his shoulders, lulling him into some form of momentary peace. Working on his body you try to scrub away the Vagabond. Wanting desperately to remove the bruises blooming across his skin and find the Ryan you’d known all those years ago, buried just beneath the exterior. He tilts his face up to yours, resting the top of his head against your chest while his eyes mourn with shifting guilt. Gently your fingers work away the face paint smudging across his cheeks, expelling the Vagabond with the trails of black, white and red dripping over his stomach and catching by his feet. Panic flutters when you can’t seem to remove the mask, your pressure growing increasingly forceful through your desperation to find him – afraid. Finally his creamy skin breaks through the barrier, granting you purchase and shedding the rest of the paint to reveal his face; soft and defeated.

Sinking into sitting your thighs press against the tiles, back shuffling into the wall and legs coming up to your chest. Ryan mirrors your position, joining you against the side of the shower and brushing his arms against your own, heat burning through your body. Neither of you speak, leaning your heads together and staring into the world of ethereal steam that shielded you from yourselves. Blocking out everything the white mist creeps across your bodies, leaving you with nothing but each other. Breathing peacefully until the water runs cold.

Once the freezing stream jars you back to reality the knob is turned until the flow subsides, leaving you both to sit side by side and let the world rematerialise around you. Still no words are spoken, instead the gentle circles his thumb rubs into your knee saying enough to encourage strength. Standing is difficult, body complaining and creaking in protest as you rise to face what lies outside the door. Offering a hand out Ryan takes a moment before accepting it, letting you direct him upwards until he sways beside you, shoulders slumping under the reluctance of the world flitting through his eyes. Intertwining your fingers you squeeze reassuringly, taking the first step and leading the two of you out of the glass walls that had protect your vulnerability, towards the towels stacked atop the counter. With a stinging dissatisfaction you pull apart to wrap yourselves up before returning to one another, your head rest against his booming chest while his arms wind around your waist. You stay there until your hair begins to dry and stick to his skin; the room becoming painfully clear, no longer an isolated sanctuary.

Ryan is the first to move this time, shrugging you from his chest and into his waiting hand. Fingers careful around your tender bruised knuckles. You don’t have the nerve to cross the floor and open the door, fearful of the outside world that would seep and engulf you again, overwhelming and fractured. Ryan feels it too, the anxiety radiating from your warm skin and dancing with the exhaustion flaunting in your eyes. Letting his towel drop he removes the fabric from you, shudders rippling through the goose bumps bubbling across your cooling arms. Slowly, deliberately, he bends to lift you, cradling you to his chest like he had during the rescue, and like he had so many years ago in a lighter moment. Somehow he convinces himself to move, unhurried in his advance towards the door before exhaling a deep sigh and letting it swing open.

Despite the familiarity of the room you still flinch into him, not wanting to see the journals scattering the surfaces, refusing to acknowledge the way the walls trapped you. Still Ryan forges a path forward, pulling up to the bed and carefully setting you down on it, mattress hugging your curves and sinking beneath your weight. He leaves your side reluctantly, ghosting to the closet and rummaging through the bottom draw of the inbuilt wardrobe, its contents having been hidden from the world for 3 years. He pulls out one of the old baggy t shirts he’d left in your room, collecting another and a pair of chequered pajama bottoms. You watch the sluggishness dictating his movements while he returns to you on the bed. Directing your arms upwards he slips the shirt over your head, the fabric rustling softly against your skin, intense comfort accompanying the sight of Ryan shrugging into his nightwear.

You don’t need help settling into bed, body falling in slow motion against the pillows and working the covers up around your shoulders. No sooner do your eyes drift closed do Ryan’s arms snake around you, face burrowing into the nape of your neck. You can feel every angle of him against your back, the softness of his stomach tracing the curve of your lower back and thighs, knees flush against the inside of your own. With what little effort you have left you brush your hand against his, fingers curling around to hold him close against you, pressing a gentle kiss against his knuckles. The bed shifts as Tilly hops up, meowing lightly and balling up in the nook Ryan’s legs had created.

Eventually the sound of breathing levels with one another to create a smooth and steady rhythm that responds to the identical beating of your hearts, dancing in slow exaggerated spins beneath the blankets. If you close your eyes for long enough you can focus on Ryan as opposed to the turmoil the world had thrown you into, desperately willing the years away. How long had it been since you’d curled together in bed without a care? You wish harder than ever that you could go back and feel the early morning sun dusting against your back as you splay across Ryan’s chest, his lips parted in sleep and doused in splintered light. You wish you could hear the pitter patter of tiny feet running through the marbled hallways and the squeals of delight that would always come with the jingle of Tilly’s bell. But now nothing but silence rings in your ears. An intense and heavy emptiness. You would do anything to see her eyes outside of your nightmares, to feel her tiny hand tug on your hip. You can almost feel her hair against your finger tips, working flowers into her braid while she sings, the smell of Saturday morning pancakes having drifted through on the summer’s breeze and Ryan’s hums.

“She’d turn 8 next month,” you choke quietly over Ryan’s peaceful breathing, body having sunken into sleep whilst Amber played through your mind, “she always loved birthdays.” A deep sadness swirls in your chest to scream over the slumbering Cheshire, unable to stir through the exhaustion saturating every muscle in your body. “Were we good parents?” the crack of your words catches you off guard, the thought materialising audibly and slipping past the Cheshire unnoticed. The question hangs in the air, shaking with each of Ryan’s exhales and billowing between your bodies. Wanting to escape it you shift in his arms, turning to bury your face in his chest only to be caught by his blue eyes – brimming with a belief that pools over into your never ending pit of crippling grief. Arms tighten around you, his gaze intent and certain while the tears tremble down your cheeks, your own eyes searching his face desperately for an answer that would stop her screams from bouncing inside your head. You need an answer that could wipe away the blank stare trapped inside her coffee eyes that had embossed itself against your eyelids, resurfacing to drag you down every time Ray looked at you with eyes so similar it hurt. You need him to take the weight of her lifeless body from your arms and keep you from continuing to cradle her broken soul against your chest.

“You are Amber’s Mom, and she loved you,” his words do little to ease the agony tearing through your chest to force strangles sobs into his t shirt. They smash through the barriers the Cheshire had constructed, crumbling around you to open the flood gates for sadness to rush towards you. Gulping for air and drowning in Ryan the Cheshire swirls with the rage nagging at the tattered shreds left behind; but she can’t be heard over your mourning. Instead you give yourself over to the pain and anguish, letting it beat against your ribs and strangle in your lungs, finally allowed to feel the loss of your daughter.

Ryan pulls you close, his own tears falling into your hairline as he presses his lips to the top of your head, chocking on his sorrow. Your shaking doesn’t stop, Amber’s face swimming behind your closed eyes, bright and overjoyed in the sprinkling sun. You don’t want to open your eyes and leave her, desperately wanting to pull her into your arms one last time. But staying in the moment is an agony you’d never been granted the opportunity to feel, stealing your breath and burning through your veins as a frantic gasp forcing your eyes open to stare at your fingers clutching Ryan’s shirt. His hands soothingly pat your hair down, tears soaking into it as the words work through your constricting throat, “you are a good Dad, Ryan. She was so proud of you.”   
“I love you.”   
“I love you.”


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lets Heist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thinking of opening commissions, but currently gauging interest. Please VOTE and let me know what prices would work, and whether it would be something you'd consider. 
> 
> https://chezzka.typeform.com/to/soavli

Warm sunlight seeps into your skin, rousing your from a deep sleep. Though your eyes remain closed each of your breaths draws in the morning and expels the aches of the past few days into the sheets. You let yourself enjoy the normality of the moment, Ryan’s soft breathing shifting through your hair and tangling in his own as it brushes across your cheek. Lying on your front with an arm tucked under your chest you legs splay out, Ryan’s strong arm wound around your waist; comforting and familiar.

It comes as a surprise that your mind is clear for the first time in weeks, despite your throat being thick and raw from the tears the night before. Your ravaged heart is lighter, shoulders moving with ease as her face swims past. No longer does the sight burn, instead leaving a mild sting without the Cheshire rearing her head – nowhere to be found. A pleasant sigh ruffles against your skin, arm tightening for a moment as a light groan escapes the slumbering man’s lips. Eyes squeezing shut to block the delicate sun dusting his eyelids. You shuffle closer, fingers running across his cheek and eyes mesmerised by the calm radiating from him, “morning dear.” His voice is husky and clogged with sleep, still it courses through your veins like wildfire, tugging against the corners of your lips as he places a kiss against your forehead; “hey there, sweetie.”  
“Sup?”

The second voice has you shooting up from the bed to see Ray occupying your couch and digging into a large bowl of your cereal. Legs crossed and face content despite the bruises circling his eyes. You narrow your eyes before rubbing them, hands falling into your lap with a gentle thud; “the fuck are you doing here?” Ray offers you a shrug and a wide smile around another mouthful, “eatin.”  
“Wait, but how?”  
“...with a spoon.”  
“Y/N please, it’s too early for murder” mumbles Ryan into the pillows, stretching out his limbs and wiggling his toes. You reach back to him, fingers finding his and moulding together. “Well,” you return your attention to Ray, “did you at least save us some cereal?” The man chews slowly, guilt stretching across his face as you narrow your eyes. Quickly he shovels the rest of the cereal into his mouth, forcing an incoherent apology through, “you’re a lil bitch, Ray.”

Ryan moves to sit up in bed, smiling at the man as he shuffles his back against the headboard. Instinctively you curl into his side, unable to deny the happiness swelling in your chest. Even though Ray always seemed to eat you out of house and home, you couldn’t help but enjoy the company of your two favourite people.

It doesn’t take long for the past few days to begin nagging at your peace, Jon surfacing within your mind and bobbing uncomfortably for your attention. Your heart lets of a painful pang, concern for your brother quickly working its way into your content moment and tainting it like a poisonous undercurrent.

“Stop looking so fucking depressed,” Ray teases, jabbing his spoon in your direction while Ryan presses a light kiss to your shoulder, humming; “Trevor and Matt are working on decoding the final few lines of data, then we should have a complete location to work with.” Not trusting your voice you simply nod, Ryan’s fingers tracing soothing circles against your hip. “Thanks,” he smiles to Ray, of who returns the sentiment with a thumbs up and a raise of his now empty bowl; standing to put it away. “No problem,” he replies while closing the dishwasher and pulling the milk from the fridge, finishing off the tea he had started for the three of you whilst you were sleeping, “we should know what’s up in a couple of hours.” He balances the mugs between his two hands, shuffling towards the coffee table and managing to place them down without spillage. “Until then,” he snatches the remove off the couch, plonking into the cushions with a wide grin, “wanna play a game?”

 

* * *

 

 

“God DAMN IT Ray!” cries Ryan mournfully, watching the bullet shoot through his character from beside you; ray and Jeremy sandwiching you in an overflow of blankets from the other side. “One fucking time, just let us win one fucking time!”  
“Can stop a Hispanic with a cause!” he cheers, kicking his legs about and getting them caught in the blankets, struggling to break free. Seeing his moment to strike Jeremy abandons his controller, pointing to Ray as he quickly begins trapping himself, “GET HIM!”

Ryan launches across you, scrambling from the blankets to get to Ray past Jeremy, wrestling for the controller. With a jolt they slip from the couch and to the floor, hollering and kicking indiscriminately. “No, NO! It was all a rouse!”  
“Fuck yeah!” Your victorious exclamation rings out as you kill the final or your friends, pulling your legs up to avoid the scuffling men at your feet. Amidst the giggles and yelling a knock at the door has you standing, leaping over the flailing limbs to greet the visitor. Standing outside is Trevor, his hair swept back and so blond it almost shone white, mouth opening and ready to act professional. At the sound of the fighting inside the apartment he stops, eyebrows furrowing as he peers past to watch the pile; face bewildered.

“What’s up, lovely?” you ask, leaning against the frame as he continues to watch the sight before him; absolutely enthralled. Shaking his head he stammers for a minutes, a flurry of _‘I, errs’_ tumbling from his lips. You wait patiently, eyes trained on your family – Jeremy trying to crawl over Ryan to reach the couch but the man wrestling him back down. “I erm, well, we’re in.”

 

* * *

 

 

The heist room is yet again cluttered with bodies huddling into the space, tension rippling through the air like wind over water. Your eyes are watching Gavin across the table while he works into a tiny mirror, hand flicking the golden eyeliner across his lid in a smooth motion. Absentmindedly your fingers touch your cheek, pulling away to watch the shimmer of colour glow across the tips – the Golden Boy having passed you his compact to splash gold across your eyes; the Cheshire materialising in front of the crew and picking at their nerves. Beside you Ryan clutches his skull mask, staring at Geoff creating ruts in the floor from his pacing. Ray is on your other side, completely at ease while he plays with his hot pink sniper rifle. A white masquerade mask perched against his forehead.

You manage to draw your gaze away from Gavin and the rest of the crew, coming to settle on Geoff while he fidgets, Jack having stopped his movements while whispering frantically to him. With a shaking breath he calms down and expels his worries, Jack quickly pecking the side of his temple with a kiss before disappearing into the crowd of bodies. He clears his throat a moment later, the noise harsh in the silence draped over the room. Still he has everyone’s attention instantly, all eyes trained on his and listening like their lives depended on it.

“The shipyard,” he starts, turning to pin the photograph up on the notice board, containers littering the space, “Matt tells me that there’s no way he could be hiding somewhere else, too much traffic to this area.”  
Matt nods from your right, continuing “the coding showed that the visits are incredibly frequent and for long periods of time.”  
“We investigated a little further,” pipes in Trevor, leaning an elbow on the table, “and found that the whole yard is being rented by a Mr. Gareth Benson.”  
“Had a drone fly over, the place is crawling with his men, small number of cops out of uniform. It’s armed to the fucking teeth,” concludes Matt, impatiently pushing his hair out of the way.

Geoff taps his notepad with the end of his pen once, “good work guys. So,” he turns back to the board to place an accompanying aerial shot next to the entrance, “here’s how it’s going to work. We hit it tonight, in teams. In and out, kill everyone we can.” Everyone is nodding, sharing glances at potential team mates along with murmurs of agreement. Your eyes are still trained on Geoff, tracing the frizz of his moustache and the creases on his forehead. He waits until the room quietens again, sweeping a hand towards Trevor, Lindsay, Meg and Matt. “We’ve got our eyes sorted, each of you are going to be watching one group and passing along intel when needed. Matt, you can hack into the security cameras, right?” a small nod from the man, a confirmation. “Good. Get drones out there too, as well as body cameras. We’ll need everything we can get.”

Moving on Geoff then jabs the pen towards Gavin and Michael, the two men a stark contrast against each other – gunpowder and gold. “You two are taking the outer perimeter. We need as many explosives as possible, cause a distraction and pool everyone inside. No one gets out alive. Think you can handle it?” Grins meet his raised eyebrow, Michael’s face splitting into a wild beam while Gavin nods eagerly. “Put on a show,” he squeaks, kicking his feet up on the table, “I think we can do that.” Michael swipes at them, knocking them off and back to the floor with a glare, “not on the fucking table, jack ass. Jeez.”

“Ray,” Geoff addresses the man beside you, his attention drawn away from his sniper for a moment, “you’re our sniper.”  
“Fucking surprise, surprise.” Geoff ignores him, motioning to the aerial view and marking out 4 small points,  
“these are the best places for you. Feel free to move between them as needed, you’re the only one I trust to shoot a bullet over my head.”  
“You really shouldn’t.”  
“You don’t make things easy, do you?”  
“Nah.” Despite his jokes Ray takes the job seriously, clambering through the crowd to the map and jotting down the points he could use, indicating a few more that might also be beneficial. Trusting him, Geoff gives him the go ahead to add a few more before he returns to your side.

Finally the leader turns to you, regarding your group and Jeremy sitting on the floor, bouncing his leg. “What’s your fucking name again?”  
“Cheshire,” says Ray, sounding genuinely surprised Geoff had forgotten. However the small hum shakes Geoff’s moustache, and you shrug.  
“I don’t think the three of us have a team name.”  
“Sure we do!” pipes in Jeremy from the floor, looking up at you with a smile, “I’ve thought of everything.”  
“Well?” Geoff’s foot taps impatiently, his anger hanging in the air, “what is it then?”  
“Get this,” Jeremy holds out his hands, presenting his idea “Crazy Short Temper.” You stare at him while Ryan chuckles, ruffling the man’s purple hair,  
“how are you so good at this?”  
“It’s a gift.”

Forging forward Geoff begins to rule off his orders, stealing your full attention. “Crazy Short Temper, you guys are going to be our main point of attack. You’ll be in the thick of it, fighting towards the centre,” the pen scribbles across a red container in the middle of the yard, stacked at least 6 high, “and towards the shithead.”  You give a sharp nod, feeling your body straighten and grow cold, “Jack and I will be giving you air support. Each of us in a jet and doing what we can to cause as much destruction as humanly possible.”

Leaning across the table Geoff’s face grows serious, eyes flashing menacingly as he addresses the rest of his family, “This is gonna be a shit storm.” Everyone hangs on his words, shuffling in place under the intense gaze he was offering, “I don’t want anyone to die here. I get that we can generally go running around without a care in the world, but remember; we don’t know if there are any negative repercussions to immortal deaths. We do know that if you lose a part of your body and it’s destroyed, you’re fucked. So, no stupid deaths and for god sakes stick together.” He stands again, this time looking at you sitting ramrod straight in your seat, Cheshire seeping into your veins. “First person to have eyes on the fucker needs to blow his brains out. We’ll deal with the organ thing later. And if you find Jon,” his eyes go to the rest of the room.

“I don’t care what you’re doing; just get him the fuck out.”


	34. Chapter 34

Mayhem.

A fog of blinding gold rushes through the tight narrow passages between the shipping containers, a searing burn followed by deep guttural choke. The Golden Boy runs quickly through the space, flinging the small bombs with joy against the walls. Behind him the men in pursuit drop and claw at their throats, a dusting of gold shimmering across their skin while it blisters and pops. A happy squeal muffles through the gas mask he’d donned, skidding around the corner and scampering away from the beautiful destruction; rain pelting thick and fast against the earth. As the Golden Boy careers to the right and darts through the containers on the ground Mogar charges beside him, bounding across the top of the stacks. Away from the toxic golden dust he watches the man running below him; fast and graceful despite his lankiness. With each colourful blast he tosses down a flurry of bombs, the explosions tearing through the space and chasing the Brit’s cheerful laughter. Leaping through the smoke Mogar joins his team mate, rolling out of the fall with a slight wobble before barrelling forward – the pair lining the walls with explosives as they go. Gareth’s men pile into the space after them, bubbling screams rasping through their constricting windpipes and blistering lips as the gold invades their airways. The pair’s chorus of laughter is drowned out as the bombs go off; igniting with the golden powder. Fire billows through the alleys while they continue to run through the maze of shipping crates, ravished and hot with anger.

Skidding to a stop Michael thrusts out his arm, stopping the Golden Boy in his tracks before he can pelt into the oncoming drabs of police blocking their exit. The share a look, Gavin squealing at the smirk he sees tugging the crinkles around his friend’s eyes. “Goin’ up boi!” he cheers, taking a few steps back and into the dust swirling behind him before exploding forward, legs hurling him through the space and into Michael’s cupped hands. “Have a nice flight” he grunts, heaving the smaller man into the air; watching as he rains his gold bombs down on the approaching danger. Clinging to the side of a container the Golden Boy begins pulling himself up while Mogar charges through the shimmering chaos, hand reaching over his shoulder with a defiant snarl. Unsheathing the large chunky sword he drives it down over his head and lunges forward, following the hilt and forcing the blade into the first officer’s chest. As the victim collapses he runs up the tumbling body, removing the weapon and swinging it down with the weight of his movements, lodging it in the second grunt’s neck. A firm foot acts as leverage for him to yank the blade free, kicking the body away with an excited exclamation; “did you fucking see that shit?!”

"Nice one boi!" yells Gavin from above, momentarily distracted while watching the man charge forward and slice clean through another’s stomach, guts pooling into the cop’s hands as Mogar bring the hilt back into the eye socket of the remaining enemy in a sharp jerk. “Incoming,” warns the Golden Boy; stuffing a rocket into his launcher and firing it past Mogar, the air dividing to surge through his curls and cool his stinging cheeks. Ducking back and shielding his face the giggles of Michael and Gavin fill the air, the firework exploding in a shower of sparks upon contact with two policemen. Gavin's sniggers are cut off with a “bloody hell!”as a jet zips past chasing a chopper, wing slicing through the space beside him.  
“Keep moving guys” instructs Lindsay in their ears, the two men taking off running again without another prompt; “you’ve got another passage to clear.”

"Done and back in time for dinner" scoffs Gavin, leaping down from the containers with a healthy scattering of gold and trading places with Michael, of who scampers upwards with a trail of sticky bombs on the other side. Then the Golden Boy skids to a stop. Pigs and grunts pour in to clog the passage with their guns drawn and trained on shimmering figure before them. "Oh shit," he gasps, inching back while Michael screams at him to run; “not good, very not good!” A squeal sees him turning on his heels and racing back the way he’d come, bullets whizzing through the air and sparking the remaining gold into flames; flickering like cheering onlookers. The enemies pool after him, cop beside crony while bulking together until they reach where Mogar waits, unaware of his presence perching above them. “Hey assholes” he calls, catching their attention and forcing them to stop. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?” No sooner have the words left his lips do the pair’s bombs simultaneously explode. A plume of gold and fire rockets through the narrow pathway without an escape, roaring fiercely. Gavin's giggles can be heard a few containers down, the Brit having scrambled up and away during the distraction.

Through the smoke, gold and glittering ash you launch over their heads, Jeremy and Ryan on either side as you land next to Michael; “Nice one man.”  
“Thanks,” the pyro breathes through a wild toothy grin “we've been working on that move for weeks.”  
“They have actually,” confirms Jeremy, peering over the side of the container. Ryan waves to a distant Gavin.   
“Well, you know what they say about playing with fire" you warn, breaking into a sprint and making your way quickly up the containers to gain higher ground.  
“Nah, don’t worry man” grins Michael, backing up to join Gavin and continue clearing out the rest of the perimeter. Jack and Geoff swoop past with guns blazing; a police helicopter stuttering before falling to earth in a plume of choking smoke. “I’m a professional.”

“That’s not the right word!” you yell, launching over to the next container set, working deeper into the yard. In sync Jeremy and Ryan drop to the lower levels, Rimmy Tim hitting the floor with a thud and groan of _‘ah, my knees!’_ while he sways on his feet. The Vagabond takes the middle ground, bending into his landing and continuing to push forward without breaking stride. As the two men set off you follow after them, throwing yourself over man as Ray's shot tears through his skull inches from your own. A deep sticky red now joins the gold shimmer and screaming black adorning your face. Unfazed you land gracefully, a new target in your sight.

Snapping forward you dive feet first through his legs to the woman behind him, skin stinging while rolling onto the flats of your feet, landing an upper punch into her windpipe in one smooth curving motion. A whistling sound passes by while you grab the back of her head, bringing it down to your knee. The throwing knife lodges in the man’s shoulder, knocking back his advances as her nose crushes against you, blood gushing into the fabric. Within an instant the Vagabond is beside you, yanking free the small blade and flipping it around in his fist. Clenching tightly he slice through the man’s throat and lets go of the tiny weapon for it to project into the jugular of another.

With a vice grip you bring your elbow round, hand snatching at the woman’s throat and charging her off the edge. Leaping with her you plummet to the ground to crash next to Rimmy, crouching atop her torso to cushion your landing. “Jesus Christ,” jumps the purple haired man staring at you in shock as he cleanly punches his opponent in the face, the officer letting out a howl; “you scared the shit outta me.”  
“Sorry” you grin, weary of a pig readying to charge after you. Rimmy Tim turns back to the officer clawing at his broken nose, blood spurting through his fingers and across his white hat. He lunging forward to front kick the chest of the man before him, his braced landing allowing you access to his steady shoulders. Running you dodge the first charge, placing a hand on his shoulders either side of his neck and crouch into his back. You explode off as he darts after another; storming him through a container with the scream of metal and bellow of thunder roaring from above. Twisting in the air you pull out your blade, glinting in the lighting crack; bringing a strong elbow down into the man’s jaw. His head turns and topples to the puddles lining the floor, blade swings around and passing cleanly through. Landing into a low crouch you roll toward the next target as he struggles with a gun, bullets muffled and dusting into the concrete. Pulling out you thrust yourself into standing, dragging the blade upwards to split from abdomen to throat. He trembles, blood gushing around you feet and washing away with the rain, supported only by your weapon before you yank it out a smooth motion; kicking the twitching cop away.

Three sniper shots ring out in succession, downing the stray policemen trying to close ranks around you. Bullets tear through their skulls and embed into the containers, metal groaning in strain while brain matter sprays the sides. The sound of heads splitting is accompanied by Ray’s crackling cheers, drowning out with another pound of thunder. Following the line you glance up to see the Vagabond in combat, motions smooth and precise. Each movement is perfectly measured, a hook punch smashing against the side of grunt’s head. Bringing the opposite elbow down in a sharp diagonally motion it collides with his neck, still swinging back before thrusting the base of his palm upwards and into the man’s jaw. A spin of your blade helps balance the weight in your hand, hilt directed to your body before you fling it after the Vagabond.  The pig attempting to sneak up behind him now hanging skewered against the metal.  He looks lazily over with eyes that searing molten blue through dead skull sockets, disposing of the body off the side of the containers before peering down at you; “I’m gonna want that back, Skullface.”  
“Of course, Chessie.”

You grimace half heartedly at the pet name, turning your attention back to the fight splaying out in front of you; catching Jeremy stumble out of the hole Rimmy Tim had created with a look of exhaustion. Panting he takes a moment, removing his hat to scratch at the hair beneath. Three men are on top of him almost instantly, forcing him down to his knees while another holds a gun levelled to his forehead; face as horrified as it is confused. “No!” Leaning back on your haunches, cyber humming in anticipation you force yourself forward, hurtling rapidly over the slippery surface while the rain stings in your speed. With an abrupt turn on your heels you launch into the air and smash your cyber down onto this extended arm before he had time to retract it. Bone shatters as you close your legs around the limb and grip it between your thighs; another spin throws him over, grinding his face into the concrete like chalk across a blackboard.

Your blade soars through the air to lodge it’s the man holding Rimmy down from above, his body sliding away for your partner to break free; scampering back before turning to fight. Catching a punch thrown at his head he twists with the fist, sweeping the man off his feet and using his body as a weapon against the remaining. With a sickening crack their masses collide, flying in a jumble towards you. Agile, you leap and kick them into another oncoming crowd, piling up the bodies.  A flash of gunpowder and gold darts past atop the containers, the explosion left in their wake casting flames over the struggling men; burning into silence.

The Vagabond joins you quickly, leaping down from his position to press his back against your own, fists raises. Officers’ charge towards you from either side with their guns drawn, and you chuckle darkly; “switch.” At your words the Vagabond ducks and you roll across his shoulders, legs circling in a cartwheel to connect with the target’s head, knocking him to the ground before issuing a fatal stomp. Brain matter spews out of the compressed skull, slick and viscose. The Vagabond is already turning to attack the remaining man, Trevor crackling in your ear while shots ring out from Ray’s sniper; cutting through the pig the Vagabond hurls him in the air.

“Guys, you’re getting really off track here; and not in the _‘we’re improvising’_ way; but like, the bad way.” You cast a glance to Rimmy and the Vagabond, watching as Ryan pulls out a rocket launcher amidst Jeremy’s delight, loading it up. “You need to get to the rusty red one at the top”  
“There’s a lot of those ones, Treyco,” you remind, impatiently brushing back the sopping tendrils of hair obscuring your vision.   
“10o’clock,” he indicates, redirecting you attention with one final glance to your partners. “You go on ahead, Chess,” instructs the Vagabond. He readjusts his aim, targeting a flurry of police flowing past an open container, “we’ve got this.” With a fizzing whistle the rocket careers towards the opening, disappearing inside before tearing the containers apart with a violent explosion, fire left in its wake. Shredded metal tears through the oncoming men, mayhem filled with chaos, blood, and rust.

“Holy shit what the fuck was that?!” demands Geoff, hands gripping the wheel as he dodges the stray shrapnel pelting through the air. The gentle hum of the engine shakes at his feet, numbness curling in to his knees. The cabin’s silence drills against his ears. “Just be careful, man” warns Jack, voice stern in the receiver. Through the windshield hell is unfolding beneath the jets while they cut through sky, shooting down choppers like sport. Gold filters through vicious fires, bodies strewn carelessly like dirty clothes across the floor as the crew darts back and forth in battle. Spotting an opening Geoff angles down, banking hard to turn his plane on its side. His wing sparks in excitement in the narrow space he rushes through, turret fire hitting bodies with thick repetitive thuds. Pulling up the jet responds almost immediately, soaring back up into the sky in time to see Jack glide past.

“Gonna need a lift,” she states, driving vertical and disappearing into the clouds. Once reaching a high enough altitude she sets the jet to auto, unlatching her belt and sliding open the compartment. Wind surges viciously through her hair, tendrils lashing at her cold cheeks like whips. Cautiously working her way onto the nose of her jet she’s careful to avoid throwing off the balance; peering over the side to see Geoff beneath. A deep breath and gentle push is all it takes for her to begin falling, rain stinging her exposed skin until she lands heavily atop the fellow jet, Geoff waving at her through the glass.

He stares at her with a mixture of admiration and utter disbelief, her hair flowing like fire and floral print billowing around her strong frame before saturating and clinging to her skin. With a jab of a thumb he is shaken out of his head, dipping the jet until his wings are level with the lower crates and containers. As a wild grin stretches across her lips and a tint burrows into her cheeks as deep as her hair, Jack pulls out an SMG and begins letting loose; alternating between gunfire and sticky bombs. Geoff swerves wide through the maze, careful to avoid clipping the wings and avoid any movements that would throw off Jack’s incredible balance. He could almost hear her laughter while her shoulders shake, exhilarated. Turning out of a sharp corner Geoff snatches the air from your lungs as he barrels past, Jack giving you a pleasant smile and wave before disappearing back up into the clouds. As the tail light fades away her finger presses the detonator, scattered sticky bombs silencing the pained screams of men left alive.

Geoff continues to climb as Jack lowers her body to press against its nose, fingers clinging to the windscreen. A shiver ripples through her as they pass back through the low hanging clouds, Geoff unable to grasp just how wonderful the woman in front of him was. Even after 70 years, he was still just as breathless as the first day; overwhelmed by a beauty matched only by her irrefutable power.

Her jet hovers in the distance, gently cruising through the rain as he pulls up above it, keeping pace. With a smile so bright it stops his heart Jack shuffles off the jet and topples towards hers; arms catching her just in time as she swings beneath it. It doesn’t take long for her to clamber up and back into the cockpit, her voice cracking through the com “and that’s how it’s motherfucking done!”  
“Jesus Jack,” breathes Meg, voice high and frightful, “do you have any idea how close I was to dying of stress just then?”  
“Ah, you’re exaggerating” she waves, following Geoff to return to the fray, chopper spiralling away from his guns with a screech.   
“Was cool as dicks though,” he admits, the pair chuckling together.

“Oh hey, there’s Chess,” Geoff indicates, “bottom left.” Hearing the directions Jack shifts her plane, the pilot nose diving in sync with Geoff, gunning either side of you while you sprint; bodies keeling over and lining the forged path towards the centre. The belly of the planes skid across the tops of containers, Geoff and Jack pulling sharply up and spiralling into the air; rain blurring their vision as the sky cracks with light. “Stay on her,” Jack instructs, gliding past and unloading into a standing crane, its supports buckling beneath the onslaught. “Wait, what are you doing?”  
“The fuck does it look like?” She spits her reply, banking to come back around and fire again. Geoff’s heart falls to his stomach, jet keeping track of you while you begin climbing the containers, nearing the centre; “but won’t it fall?”  
“That’s the point Geoff, it’ll fall,” Jack’s voice is muffled by her guns, the crane sparking to life and beginning to creak and moan, “and block the entrance.”   
“It’s not going to fall that way,” Geoff’s voice grows frantic and the crane begins to topple, collapsing with a deafening moan of metal on metal into the shipyard, plummeting towards your running figure. Curving around Geoff accelerates, urging his metal tube to fly faster through the air, desperate and unsure “we have to help!” 

“What the fuck are you doing, dumbass? Whatever it is, it’s not going to work. We have to think!”  
“We don’t have time Jackie, we have to go now.”  
“We could fly behind her and nudge her forward, but then we’d still get caught...” Jack’s voice fades as she finally realises Geoff’s intentions, her engine humming angrily as she tries to catch up and do something – anything – to change his mind; “Geoff stop, please. If you go up in flames your body might be too far gone to bring back!”  
“Say hi to the kids for me when it’s all over.”  
“Don’t be stupid, Geoff stop, oh god please!”

Exterior sounds drown beneath the jet’s comforting song, the space tunnelling as Geoff speeds towards the structure. Pushing as hard as he can he accelerates into the beams, hearing the crunch of metal and shattering of glass caving in. And then he's falling. Trapped in his seat and plummeting to earth, eyes squeezing shut as he hums in fear, impact smashing through his bones and leaving him to pool into darkness. Despite the pain wracking through his body as he cries out in agony, he knows he’s done all he can. Trading your life for his own, an old man who was just tired of waking up every morning. Damn he needed a rest. Jack’s eyes the last thing lingering in his mind before he's gone.

The sight of the large industrial mass hurtling towards you runs a cold sense of defeat through your veins, rain pelting your terrified face as you stare up at the structure; smoke curling to the sky and choking away the rumbles of light. You don’t stop – you can’t. You push faster than ever before, cybernetic working overtime to propel you forward with the quickly fading hope of escape. You can’t hear the shrieking of your family over the sound of impending danger, the sky mourning the events unfurling beneath it. You aren’t going to make it, no matter how fast you run, no matter how many container roofs you launch across; you aren’t going to make it. The wind swells around you and you squeeze your eyes shut, blindly bolting forward and waiting for the agonising pain that would crush you into a dark oblivion that never comes.

The blast from above tears through the air like a scream, resonating in the walls as fire and debris joins the showering rain falling to earth. The speed of the vehicle and subsequent force of the crash redirects the crane’s path, inching it far enough over that a strong bound sees you out of the line of danger. “Geoff, no!” Trevor’s panicked scream rings in your ears as you fall to your knees, staring at the structure and what was left of Geoff’s jet as it folds in on itself, crashing to the ground. A moment later and you’re up and running, searching over the edge of the container you stand upon, eyes frantically scanning through the wreckage. “We need an extraction, now!” bellows Meg in your ear, the com becoming an overwhelming jumble of fear and confusion. “Jeremy and Gavin, get to Geoff!” Meg commands and you watch helplessly while the flames roar and lick at the metal, “if we can’t recover everything it’s not coming back. Don’t let anything get destroyed.”   
“Geoff,” weeps Jack, plane hovering about the scene as she sobs into her hands, “oh god sweetums, I’m so sorry.”   
“We don’t have time for emotions here Jack, you have to pull yourself together; for him” comforts Lindsay as best she can, “Cheshire, you gotta keep moving. You have a job to do.”   
“But he’s...”  
“He’s immortal, Y/N.”  
“But if the body’s destroyed-”  
“Jesus Christ we don’t have time for this, go!”

You tear your eyes away from Jeremy as he skids to the wreck, Gavin joining him and frantically beginning to work on the jet crumpled like a paper aeroplane, forcing the fear clogging your throat down. With one last desperate look you start running, rain roaring in your ears and screams chasing at your heels. Scampering up the side of the final row of containers the rain pelts at your skin, a stinging cold settling in your bones, blinded through the hair sticking to your face. As you reach the top you haul yourself onto the freezing metal, eyes falling to stare at the entrance, ajar and tempting. You’re on your feet again; slipping across the surface and thrusting open the door, room dark and expansive before you.

You can almost feel your heart stop, the muscle chocking on its own blood as Jon curls in the centre. Hair a wild mess of tangles and knots. Eyes wide, broken and pleading. His body matted with enough blood that you can only see flashes of his pale skin beneath the slick liquid, cracked and crumbling. You can’t focus on the mutilation, the objects adorning his skin jutting out and demanding your attention. Instead you’re running towards him, his eyes lighting up for a fraction at the sight of you before they cloud in concern, voice muffling through the duct tape plastered across his lips. His screams somehow worm into your mind, fracturing your path and forcing your fingers to curl around your blade. Turning to swing it down it clashes against Jon’s in Gareth’s hand, a polite smile on his lips.

“Well, will you just look at what the cat dragged in. Cheshire, darling, it’s so nice to officially meet you.”


	35. Chapter 35

In a swift and lighting quick motion you’re rocketing back, Jon’s blade skidding across the arm you’d raised in defence; Gareth’s simple smile stretching into a morbid grin. Bruises make promises as your body clatters to the floor, the water clinging to your clothes helping you slide away from the madman stood before you. Despite the Cheshire swirling in your chest you can’t bring yourself to rush forward and attack, instead concern overwhelming all other emotion screaming inside of your head. Determined, you manage to crawl across the ground amidst Gareth’s cold chuckles. Pulling Jon’s face into your hands your fingers curl around the tape and rip it away, his lips left chapped and irritated. You press your forehead against his frantically, his hands finding yours and holding on for dear life. “Oh god, you’re okay,” is all you can quietly choke, eyes brimming with tears that you refuse to shed. Anguish flashes across his face, burrowing into the deep hollows surrounding his uncomfortably bright eyes. “Okay, so about that,” his voice is rough, rasping painfully through his throat, voice box struggling to play a tune with broken strings, “please don’t look down.”  
“Why?”

Before you can stop yourself your eyes have drifted downwards; raking over his mangled body to see the glass protruding from infected wounds while they ooze puss – deep scars having healed only to be torn open again. It’s not the sight of his hands littered with cigarette burns that sparks the fire in your belly, nor is it the vicious brands singed into his forearms to scrawl derogatory slurs. Instead it’s a sight so familiar you want to scream, want to claw your eyes out so that you could never see such a thing again. But you can’t. Rather you are left to take in the sight of the empty space occupying what should have been his leg; severed at the knee. Your stomach lurches as bile rises, feeling yourself turn green while a painful cold settles over your shoulders and into the tops of your ears. His stump glares back at you, having healed completely with skin folding like a parcel, a clean amputation on the opposite side of your own.

Slowly you stand, the red mist descending over your vision as you stare at his mutilation, his eyes brimming with sorrow. You can’t quieten the screams inside your mind. You can’t force any thought into your mind, plagued by the sight of your brother. You’d been too late – why were you always too late? Every time you’d never been quick enough, no matter how hard you’d tried you couldn’t save them. You’d lost so many. So, so many. But not Jon, you can’t lose him like Amber. You can’t wake up every morning swimming in the blue waters of his eyes, knowing they’ll rush into your throat and clog your nose; drowning you in guilt. You refuse to never utter his name again for fear of pulling apart at the seams. You won’t lose Jon, not like her.

In an instant the Cheshire has you snatching a gun and spinning to point it at Gareth, a bitter snarl curling on your lips. His movements are quicker grabbing the barrel of the gun and twisting you arm. With a small yelp you have no choice but to move with him to save your arm from snapping; vicious growls resonating in your chest. You don’t realise how far you’ve moved until the gun points down at Jon. You watch his head shaking back and forth, barrel pointed at the temple and voice distorted by the blood pounding desperately in your ears. And then you’re struggling, kicking out and twisting best you can to break free, but each move Gareth has foreseen; pulling your strings like a puppet. “You know,” starts Gareth, voice pleasant and conversational as he forces his fingers around your own, trapping them as you spit your snarls; “I heard that if you destroy a certain part of the brain you can kill an immortal. Why don’t we test that out?”

You know as soon as pressure increases on your fingers that you should be closing your eyes to block it out, but you can’t leave Jon alone. Instead you’re staring into his eyes, shining and full of a forgiveness you don’t deserve. He barely manages to speak, “it’s okay” continuing to ring in your ears far longer than the bullet that slides through his skull. A gentle cry is all that’s left inside of you, falling from your lips to join his body collapsing to the ground. His hair traces his descent, pooling around his empty face and shielding the eyes that stare into the nothingness. Quiet. It’s far too quiet. You’re on your knees, metal biting at your skin. Hands reaching out to brush away his wild hair, leaving his eyes to fade before you; the water receding as the tide goes out one last time. You can’t push his name past your lips, the Cheshire already building up her walls and blocking him out. You’re fighting desperately, refusing to let him fall into the same hole you’d buried Amber, nameless for far too long. Instead your shaky hands cradle his head in your lap, stroking back his hair with the same nervous energy you’d seen him do so many times before. You had so much left to talk about, so much left to explore. And now you were holding the world in your hands, feeling hope drain away and pool sticky and red around your feet. No matter how gentle you are the truth shatters against your shoulders, curling over and pressing your forehead against his for a final time; a mourning wail tearing through your ribcage.

“What a shame.” The words lap at the edges of your consciousness like water at the shore front, cold and biting. “It’s always the pretty ones.” You try to block him out and focus on Jon, fighting with the Cheshire for control as she tries to rage against your sorrow. You’re clutching his hand, willing him to squeeze your fingers, chocking on your sobs as they fall limp in your grip, palm slipping away. “He’s not coming back.” You rebel against the statement, body trembling and teeth grinding so hard your jaw was starting to set. You wouldn’t forget the sound of his laughter, nor the way his lips twitched into a lopsided grin. You wouldn’t let his memory be tainted with anger – you just had to hold on. “Just like Amber.”

You can almost see her kneeling with you, a soft smile on her lips as she places a tiny hand into Jon’s remaining. A deep and shaky breath smudges your vision with unshed tears, “look after him, baby.” Your whisper is soft within the pounding rain, hammering heavily against the metal container and weeping over the loss of such a good soul. At your words the weight lifts from your shoulders, leaving you incredibly alone and numb; watching as Amber pulls Jon away in your mind. Eyes closing to allow the tears to trickle.

“You know,” Gareth’s words are clear now, cutting through the tension thick in the air; “I’m pretty sure it was all your fault.”   
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your hiss is sharp and vicious, the Cheshire redirecting her rage towards the chuckling man, and you welcome her like an old friend. “You didn’t think I’d do my research before I got here? I’m offended!” The heavens continue to pour, but the sky is the only one left weeping. Instead darkness throbs in your mind, encasing your heart in ice, impervious to the burning rage flickering within your chest. “Funny thing is, you really should have seen it coming. Did you honestly expect them not to come after you? Of course, she didn’t – see it coming that is. Bullet tore straight through that baby’s eye. Very impressive!” He seems unfazed by your silence, pushing forward with blatant disregard, “what, don’t want to tell me all about your little girl?” Your body stiffens as a response, but not defensively. Rather the Cheshire tenses inside of you, ready to pounce and waiting on your mark. “Oh,” his voice isn’t surprised, despite the nature of his exclamation, “or maybe you can’t. You really are _just like me_.”

You bark out a laugh, harsh and rough, battering against the walls while you let Jon slide away from your knee. Gareth sucks in a offended breath, venom lacing each word. “Oh, The Cheshire’s too good for people like me. How ignorant. At least I know I’m a fuck up, don’t tell me; the Cheshire’s a coping mechanism? And the Vagabond’s the same, right? Oh please! What fucking losers, you have no idea.” Each dark chuckle lashes at your exposed back, whipping into your core to drag out a concept you’d long since abandoned. The ring of heavy footsteps clomps towards you, shaking beneath your knees until your hairs are standing. A rustle of fabric sees him crouching to your left, a genuine smile teasing beneath the malice. “Do you want to know why the Cheshire’s such a hassle?”

A glint of anger is the only indication he’s able to process before your elbow swings upwards, colliding with a wicked crunch into his windpipe. He hurtles back, stumbling and clutching his throat while he gasps for air. Each cough racks through his airways, eyes narrow and offended as you stand – the Cheshire as strong, dangerous and angry as she’d ever been. “Oh, there she is,” he chokes. Regaining composure he tries to mirror your stance, unable to achieve the same level of intimidation, body flinching with every inhale. “You’ll never be able to get rid of her,” he coughs again to clear his throat, eyes flashing “your body thinks she’s the original copy. With every death you’re brain’s going to reconstruct her, over and over again until there’s nothing left. Same for that frightful Fabio character you like so much. Same as me.”   
“You going to start making sense any time soon?” you growl, eyebrow rising curiously, almost bored. He chuckles, wincing and slightly ruffled by your cool demeanour. He doesn’t have time to react as you rush at him, a right hook smashing against his jaw before an uppercut catches him in the stomach. Doubling over the back of his head is met with the downwards force of your opposing elbow before a front kick sends him back. He doesn’t retreat, instead steadying before blocking your next punch, forearms clattering together. Another swing, another blinded opportunity. A firm and powerful slam of his palms against your chest, only defended against with your arms forming an ‘x’, has your heels skidding against the floor and sliding back with the force.

“Don’t you remember the explosion, Y/N?” Though his words are strained from exertion they send a hungry fire through your mind. You can’t see, trapped in the Greek humidity as the blast rolls towards you, a glowing orange chasing through the cool marble hallways. Taking advantage he pulls out Jon’s blade, swinging the hilt upwards into your gut and knocking you to your knees. His next move brings around a punch and has you bouncing into a crouch, cybernetic sweeping out to topple his balance. In an arc he falls and releases the weapon, legs lifting above his head as it smashes against the ground, container shaking. From your crouch you leap over his still falling body, fingers snatching his foot. The sound of his face turning to grind across the floor rattles satisfyingly through you, continuing to flip until his body passes over your own to smash into the opposite wall. The impact is intense, the crate you occupy shuddering unsteadily while he falls to his knees. Chuckling and shaking to his feet he brushes the dust away from his jeans, face displeased by the state of his outfit. “So you don’t remember then,” he smiles, conversational despite the blood tracing the shape of his neck and collar bone, seeping into his shirt. “How very interesting. Does that mean the nail bomb doesn’t ring any bells, either?”

You aren’t giving him the courtesy of listening to his taunts while your head and face prickle painfully in the memory, instead charging forward to collect Jon’s blade from the floor; bringing it up in a smooth swing to slice at his face. Instead he dodges, weaving away and digging and elbow into the back of your neck, muscle screaming in pain. “Oh, you guys were such a mess. You and Ryan, I mean.” His teasing does nothing, but the second elbow that comes down is anticipated. Catching it in your hands you twist into his back, hearing the skin tear and pop as you push it too far, blood spurting through his scream. A swift kick forces him onto his front, Gareth clutching at his right arm, limp and useless. “That’s not fair, we were about to get to the brain and nails bit.”

Rolling to his feet his back faces you for a moment, tempting your charge. You lunge forward; face searing from the impact of his powerful backhand. Your body ricochets against the wall, using the surface as leverage to fling upwards and tear a pipe from the roof; bringing it down with a crack. He bellows, stumbling back and clawing at his jaw, stray teeth tumbling to pitter against the floor. With a start you push forward, smashing the pipe into his kneecap, his buckling bringing his head down and into your next upwards golf swing. Falling backwards he snatches at the hem of your shirt, dragging you close before his hands come around your ears in a sharp clap. Then the world is ringing, sound searing through your head until the momentum carrying him back brings his foot up, front kicking you away. The sickening crunch of your ribs fracturing beneath his shoe cracks with the thunder rolling above you, leaving you breathless and on your hands and knees; arm curling around your side.

Somehow he manages to pull himself up; regarding you with a rage you hadn’t seen in him before. It was obvious that he enjoyed the sound of his own voice, unaware of your proximity to the closest blade and powering on with his narrative. “You know, I had the same thing happen to me when dear ol’ Geoffrey decided to blow me up. Funny what shrapnel on the brain will do to an immortal. Nails are worse, I’ll admit. You one-up me on that. Still, that much metal shooting through a person’s hippocampus and frontal lobe can really change your outlook on life. Your personality, you know?” He lurches towards you, right arm hanging far lower and fingers brushing the bottom of his knee; swinging sickeningly as he approaches. A smile twists across his lips as he takes the upper hand, watching you squirm to keep you ribs in place long enough for them to heal into fractures and keep from puncturing your lungs. You blink hard and frantically, trying to clear the blood that had traced to your eye from the cut above your eyebrow, smudging your vision red.

“A damaged brain doesn’t have much to work with, but it does its best. Goes with the stronger traits and builds from there. Problem is,” he picks up the pipe you’d dropped, spinning it playfully, “emotions can make the whole process a little messy. Still, immortality’s a stubborn thing. If all it’s got is anger and murderous intentions, hell; what else does it have to reconstruct?” He kneels down beside you, victorious and beaming “and it’s just a never ending cycle. Each death brings with it more anger, and further solidifies that personality until you aren’t you anymore. You’re the Cheshire. Just a burning pit of pointless, misdirected rage.” And then you feel his hand smoothing back your hair comfortingly, his tone shifting to a deep, resonating sadness and understanding. “Welcome to the club.”

You swing the blade you’d managed to work your way upwards, catching him off guard and slicing away what was left of his arm. His guttural screams are thick and wet as blood gushes from the wound, arm falling to the floor and rolling back and forth. You stand despite your aching ribs, the movement shifting what felt like sand beneath your skin. And then you buckle into a duck, an explosion rocking the stack of containers you were in and tearing away the walls and roof; remains of the structure rattling in the rind whipping around you.

The outside battle rages on, Mama Bear shooting past in a lone jet as Michael retakes the perimeter on his own, the jovial Brit unheard within the chaos. Rain pelts down, stinging your open wounds and blinding your vision; Gareth clutching his stump in disbelief and agony. “You fucking bitch!” he spits through his teeth, trying to pull himself up and collapsing, “all you’ve done is get in the fucking way!” You’re advancing on him, each step ringing out powerfully, cracks of light tracing the sky above. “All I wanted to do,” he manages to regain his balance, leaning into his stance, “was brutally murder Geoff and everyone he’s ever loved. He deserves, you know that! I’m as broken as you are, why don’t you understand?!”

He shrieks as you crouch, launching towards him and forcing his back against the remaining section of wall, ribs aching beneath your touch. With a shudder the structure strips away, taking you with it and leaving you both to plummet towards the ground unbelievably far away. You plant your feet and push up off his falling body, rocketing him quicker towards the earth as you turn in the air to dive after him; blade ready. Your momentum drives you through the space, cutting through the air and then his elbow, his shrieks filling your ears as you roll onto the ground, body smashing beside you.

You’re breathing heavily, air rasping through your raw airways and legs shaking from the impact. You can barely register the mayhem unfolding around you, the smell of burning bodies washing away with the rain. The battle is quietening, at least. No longer are men streaming in, instead they litter the passageways. Though the sound of gunfire persists, the urgency that had rattled between the containers and into the bones of your crew had settled into a slow hum. The trembling sounds escaping Gareth’s broken body, however, have no problem catching your attention. Straightening up you pass your gaze over Ryan, his mask in hand and watching you with glittering eyes. Hair whips around his face, blond tendrils plastered to his face and tracing the sharp structure of his jaw. You can’t make out the emotion buried within those dark circles, but at this point you don’t care. All that matters is the poor excuse for a human being at your feet, spitting insults into the stream of his own blood.

Your back faces Ryan, willing him to look away while you let the Cheshire out to play without her chains, muscles tense and restless. It doesn’t take long until you’re standing above him, feet either side of his hips and face a vicious mask carved with gold shimmer and splatters as black as soot. The tightness in your chest doesn’t ease, instead growing increasingly frantic as he squirms, trying to drag what remains of his body away. “What are you gonna do, kill me?” he yells to the sky, his final triumph “I’m immortal!” You don’t respond, instead bringing the blade down on his other shoulder, slicing the skin and smashing through the bone, his kegs kicking out and knocking your knees as he screams. You stay steady, breathing hard amidst your crew’s destruction as it slowly dies down.

You’re floating, out of control as you stare murderously down at the man between your feet. Ryan’s face creases in worry at your anger, body running cold as he bellows at anyone who’ll listen to him – ordering someone towards the crate you had fallen from. At his instructions Michael is rushing up the side of the stack, Ryan watching with panic and a dropping stomach as Michael’s broken wail tears through the shipyard at the sight of Jon. You feel the blade lift in your hands, see the gleam of metal shift as you ready for the next strike, but cannot concentrate through the rage poisoning your mind. With a final smile Gareth watches the Cheshire; dangerous, imposing, and in complete control. “You’ll never be more than your anger.”   
“You’re wrong.”

And then you’re thrusting down, knees buckling to carry to forward to spear the blade through his skull. The bone cracks and splits, skin peeling back and curling while you lean in the hilt, watching the life drain from his smirk. Adrenaline continues to course through your veins, numbing you to the blood loss and dizziness tugging at your mind. Yanking away the skull lets off a breath as the vacuum is released; before your screams claw out of your throat and just don’t stop. Each slash brings the sharp edge across his face, smashing his face to pieces until the features merge. Around you the sound of Ryan and Ray clearing out the remaining men barely registers, instead you don’t break free of your frenzy until a bloody pulp throbs into submission beneath you. But even then your body won’t respond, throat running raw as screams continue and his chest splits open. You discard the blade, hands coming down to claw at his flesh and force through to his rib cage, a swift punch cracking free the bone to open the lungs. There’s no more sound, ears ringing into silence while your voice escapes you, whimpering into Gareth’s chest cavity and pulling out the organs to hurling them away.

You don’t notice Ryan until his hands are tugging you away, arms vices around you to force you to still. The Cheshire thrashes within you, desperate to maim what was left until he had never existed. Wipe the world clean of his hatred, of every trace. You knew that the vain hope was useless, knew that the destruction of all he was would never bring back Jon; but you had to try. Damn it, you had to try. But you can’t, instead Ryan’s kneeling with you, your legs kicking while you try to tear free. You had to get back to the corpse, had to tatter everything so that there was no way he would be granted life after taking one so important. Jon deserved better than this, Jon _was_ better than this.

The soft humming doesn’t register immediately, rather nibbling at your raging insanity while Ryan presses his face into the curve of your neck. His arms are still strong around you, but not restraining. Their comfort slows your thrashes, chest heaving until his hums are all you hear. And then you go slack, collapsing into his gasp and letting him hold you as he world comes crashing down against your battered and bruised heart.


	36. Chapter 36

Only a heavy weight presses against his chest. No matter how hard he searches for the light, nothing comes. He’s left to float through the emptiness, dry ache dragging him deeper down. He opens his mouth to scream, but the words can’t be found. Instead a gentle gasp trickles from between his lips, disappearing into the darkness. It feels like everything is closing in. And then the voices come. Just a muffle at first, a nagging buzz of an amalgamation of tones. Nothing makes sense; until he begins to recognise the sounds. A gruff cough. An all too familiar laugh with a brightness that shatters through the numbness. He was going to make it back. He had to.

The first thing he notices is the burning of light, stinging his eyes. Then come the cracks, fading into view and tracing the ceiling like fissures in a dessert’s sand. And then your face is above his own, eyes alight and shimmering in the sun filtering into the room. Skin dusted with a warm glow and relief before your forehead is against his. Airy laughter playing with his stray, delicate hairs. “Welcome back.”

“Ouch, this is one hell of a hangover.” Pulling away you watch those unbelievably blue eyes wince as Jon lifts his fingers to touch the side of his temple. You try not to acknowledge the scar beneath his touch, guilt dripping into the pools brimming in your stomach. “No shit, you were out for 2 weeks.” At this his eyes widen, shock coursing through his veins, eyebrows shooting beneath the wild hair curling around his cheeks and brushing the tops of his shoulders.  “That’s...” his voice cracks, clearing his throat and scrunching up the right side of his face, “that’s a long time.”  
“You’re telling me,” your smile doesn’t reach your eyes, instead letting it drop to the floor. “I wasn’t sure you’d come back.”  
“I shouldn’t have.” Though he doesn’t intend for his statement to hurt you, each word stings behind your eyes, hammering in your chest. Pushing past it you take his hand in your own, overjoyed as his fingers finally responded to your touch. “Jon, I-” but he leans across the medical bed he was lying on, pressing his freehand clumsily against your lips. “Don’t you dare,” he warns as you struggle against him, giggling despite yourself. “But Jon,” you try, and he isn’t having any of it. Rather he pulls up onto his knees, continuing to block your words and laughing. You stick out your tongue, his exclamation of _‘gross!’_ resulting in his hand retracting away, glaring at your beaming face.

Until his eyes fall on his leg, now free from the sheets.

You know the emotions that are running through his body, remember the feeling of anger and loss playing havoc against your ribcage. The worst was always the confusion. The way his mind would now try to comprehend the aches and twinges of flesh and blood no longer there; now replaced with the cold, industrial wires and panels. You can’t see his expression, face shielded by a sheet of tumbling loose curls as he watches the lights hum, nerves and tendons tensing with every subtle movement.

“I’m so sorry Jon,” you manage, voice coming out in a strangled squeak; falling silent when he holds up a hand.   
“Are you fucking kidding me?”   
“It wouldn’t grow back. We couldn’t find the limb, and the damage I caused to your brain meant that it wasn’t able to reconstruct-” but your brother cuts off the words bubbling out, eyes shifting like diamonds in the light. His face isn’t a grimace, instead his lips are upturned into a familiar lopsided grin, face creasing in excitement. “This is so fucking cool.”   
“Excuse me?”  
“Yeah, look!” his eagerness sees him shuffling off the side of the bed, pressing his cyber toes against the floor with a breath of awe; “we’re twinsies.” He wobbles, unstable on the addition. Catching him by the elbow you help him stand, looking down at the contraption curving gracefully from his lower thigh; sleek, dark and powerful.

“This is incredible,” he chuckles, taking shaky steps while you move in tow, keeping him upright, “is it always like this?”  
“Uncomfortable?”  
“Invigorating.” The spark in his eyes and excitement on his face lifts your heart from the dark place it had been resting in, helping you see your mutilation in a new, and more positive light. “I feel like I can take on the world. I’m a badass like you now!” You smile, shifting your gaze to your own cybernetic, following the smooth curves and intricate etches across the panels; the gentle pulsing blues waving back. “I guess you are, about time you caught up.” You grin cheekily, accepting the playful shove and eye roll you felt you deserved, quickly rushing back as Jon slips to his knees with a smack. “Careful, it’ll take a while until you get the hang of it.” You fret around him, hauling him back up and helping to the bed; where he collapses in wonder. “I don’t even want my leg back. This is fucking crazy.”   
“Perks of nearly dying.”  
“Wonder what I’ll get next time.”  
“A punch to the face.”

He turns to greet Geoff’s gruff voice while he clears his throat, shifting into sitting from the slump he’d created during sleep. The sight of him makes you smile, the man groaning to stand, running a tattoo littered hand through his hair. “Nice to meet ya,” he grunts, holding out a hand to your brother, who takes it with wide eyes, “I’ve heard literally nothing about you.” At this Jon laughs, retracting his hand and sitting cross legged to watch Geoff walk around to you and wrap an arm around your shoulders; pulling you in for a tight squeeze. “You went to a lot of effort to save a man you’ve never met before.” Jon comments in disbelief and Geoff simply shrugs, a commotion ensuing outside the door and catching his attention, “Y/N made a good case.”  
“What did she say?”  
“That you were cute. I think she needs her eyes checking.”   
“Ouch,” jokes Jon, clutching his chest in mock offence as Jack rattles in through the medical bay door, hair as fiery as ever and falling in curls around her jaw.   
“Oh thank god,” she breathes, seeing Jon sat up and animated. Quickly she scoops him up into a hug, rocking side to side while he squeaks out a constricted breath beneath her words, “I was so worried.”

It takes Geoff tapping the large woman on the shoulder for her to realise she was crushing Jon, gently setting him back down with a bashful smile. “This is Jack,” you say, motioning to her with pride, the woman turning to retrieve a Styrofoam cup and fill it with water, passing it to her patient. “Nice to meet you, I know abso-”  
“-lutely nothing about me. Yeah,” Jon sips graciously, thankful for the relief meeting his burning raw throat, “it seems to be a running theme around here.”   
“Jack been working day and night to keep your vitals going,” you tell him, smiling gratefully up at the woman, who beams back between readjusting her floral. “It was nothing, immortality pretty much looks after itself. I mainly just wanted to monitor a few potential... problems.”  
“What kinda problems?” At Jon’s question Geoff shuffles uncomfortably, staring down at his shoes. Catching Jack’s attention, she touches his shoulder comfortingly,  
“none of this was your fault.”   
“That’s bullshit.”  
“That’s life.”

Her retort has him humming in irritation, face dusting red as he tries to ignore the bouncing of his heart when she entwines her fingers through his. “Jack’s right, Pops,” you interject, Jon nodding in affirmation but having no idea what you were talking about, he just knew it was his job to support you. “Gareth wasn’t angry at you, no matter what he said.” Taking Jon’s hand back in your own you give him a long glance, encouraging him to take note of your words, “he was angry at immortality. At what he’d become, raging and alone. That’s not something any of us should allow to become a corruptive force. We work with what we’ve got, and don’t lay blame.” You decide that it would be best not to tell him of the damage done to Gareth’s mind, figuring that comparing him to the Cheshire would only result in more heartache and guilt for him.

Instead you let the words sink in, Jon giving your fingers a squeeze in agreement, an unspoken promise not to let his newfound immortality control his life. Geoff still fumes uncomfortably, perking at the sound of Jack’s playful sigh. “We can blame each other until the end of time, if you’d like?”  
“I would like, actually,” he meets her eyes, a sheepish smile crossing his twitching lips, moustache curling higher with the expression, “I’d like that very much.”   
“Deal.” Jack presses a gentle kiss to his temple before letting go of his hand to take back Jon’s cup, giggles erupting from the man slathered in tattoos while he bounces on his heels like a child.

“So what’s the verdict, doc?”  
“Oh, I’m not a doctor.”  
“Well, now I’m filled with confidence.”  
“Okay, my medical opinion says that you’re fucked,” Jack beams, “but as a friend, I’m hopeful.”  
“You may have some minor short term memory loss, though. Just because of the section taken out,” you interject, Jon’s face clouding over at your words.   
“Wait, what did you say?”   
“That you’ll have some short term mem- oh you _bitch_.”   
Jon mirrors Jack’s expression, eyes darting to you joyfully before prompting you for the full story of your escape. You grimace, preferring to leave that section of the month buried in the past. Still, he persists, badgering your with sharp pokes against your arm, only to stop at the knock on the door.

“JON!” comes Ray’s excited screech, abandoning the game boy he was playing to rush at the man in bed, diving into his lap and hugging him tightly. Thrown off guard by the surprise attack Jon rockets back, taking the young man with him, a muffled _‘hey Ray’_ working its way out of the smothering.   
“Ray, c’mon, let him breath,” you reach out and he bats your hand playfully, awkwardly helping Jon sit back up before planting himself in his lap, bridal style,   
“fuck off, he’s mine now.”   
“I mean, I have no problems with this,” admits Jon, squeezing his friend tightly while Ray pulls a comedic face, looking completely content.

It doesn’t take long for the sound of other approaching bodies to clatter outside the room, Michael’s voice working its way through the wood as a warning. “Oi fuckers, it’s hot.” Opening the door for them Jack steps aside, concern on her face as Gavin follows Michael in, hand’s gripping a precarious number of mugs filled with steaming tea. Still, his voice is that of mockery, “oi fuckers, it- ouch! Michael, that’s hot.”   
“No shit Gavin, what the fuck did I just say?” Shaking his head and chuckling Michael flashes you a smile, passing the mugs around, “oh, hey Jon.”   
“Hey Michael.”   
“Oh god,” frets Ray, struggling to stay atop Jon while snatching at a drink, having to shuffle away and stand in the now cramped space. “There are too many bodies in here, not good.” Ray side steps as Jeremy enters, the small man easily making his way through the clutter to the bed, sitting the opposite side of your own. “Err, Y/N,” Ray’s eyes lock with yours, demanding “can I see you for a minute, like; outside?”

You cast a concerned glance to Jon, who simply raises his mug as a response. “Don’t worry” smiles Jeremy, patting your brother’s free hand, “I’ve got him.” Within an instant Jon catches his hand, holding onto it defiantly as he settles back into the cushions, Jeremy blushing profusely. “You heard the rowdy man,” quips Jon, eyebrows raised and surprised by Jeremy’s lack of struggling, muttering _‘I’m not rowdy’_ under his breath,   
“he’s got me.”   
“I don’t know what’s happening.”

You follow Ray out and into the halls, a smile tugging at your lips while you pass the large living space, the rest of the crew scattered across the space and curled into the rug, fast asleep – all except for Trevor. The white blond man waves at you with your knuckle duster in hand; a cherished gift thanking him for looking after you once Ryan had dragged you away from the body. Shooting him a beaming smile, you’re pleased to see that he no longer shrinks away from you; instead welcoming your warmth with an open invite. “You ever gonna put that thing down?”   
“Hell no,” he chuckles, admiring the weapon for what seems like the thousandth time, “we go way back.”  
“Yeah, if I find you pressing it to my throat in the middle night, I’m gonna fuck you up.”  
“Noted, we’ll file your complaint away for someone to audit at a later date. Once I’ve already made the bad decision.” You leave him with a light laugh, never having expected the man you’d once threatened in a liquor store to become the infamous Treyco – or such a good friend.

You don’t stop walking until you draw up to the door of your apartment, cheerful jesting subsiding as your eyes fall on the wrapped parcel atop your bed. Bright pink and wrapped with a garish, enormous black bow you can’t help your eyebrows shooting up and disappearing beneath your hair. “What is it?” Ray hold up his hands in defence, shaking his head with an exaggerated frown, “don’t look at me, I’m just the delivery guy.”   
“You’re absolutely no help.”  
“Am I ever?”  
“You have a good point.” You laugh, approaching the gift cautiously, not trusting presents after the last item you’d received from Gavin. You were still finding glitter in the carpet. “I’ll be back in 10, okay? I’m not paid by the hour, you know.”  
“You’re getting paid?”  
“No.”

His laughter rings through the hallways as he amuses himself, your silly smile fading to an expression of curiosity; tentatively nudging the present on to the floor. Once there, you poke it and wait, expecting at any moment the paper to burst and erupt in a glittery mess. Finally determining the package to be safe you lower to the floor, legs splaying out around the incredibly pink wrapping. After removing the bow and placing it aside, a quick hooked finger tears it open, contents slipping out in front of you. The laughter that erupts from your lips is that of disbelief, staring down at the grey and baby blue stripped pajama bottoms, cream knit, and pair of slippers.

It doesn’t take long to shed away your clothing and don the gifts, watching in wonder as the cream shifts over your frame and wraps you in a version of yourself you never thought you’d see again. Wrapped in the image of comfort, you’re entranced by the woman stood before you. Strong and kind, the little girl untouched by the Cheshire. No hint of the madness her life had spiralled into, instead warm, safe and loved. You want to cry at the sight of your scars disappearing, the hum of cybernetics a distant memory. You were Y/N, a good friend, a strong person, and a _mother_. Although haunted by the Cheshire’s anger; she would not become you. In this moment you made sure of it, clinging on to all you had lost with a respect you had never been able to show before. Your fingers touch your clear skin, free of gold and black ash, bruised bags finally receding.

“Yo, you ready to be delivered?”  
“What does that even mean?”  
“I don’t know I’m just trying to create a mood!”  
“Of confusion?!” you giggle, Ray’s eyes widening and pride swelling in his chest at the sight of you, bundled up and full of uncrushed hope, “shut up asshole and just follow me.”

Ray gives nothing away as you wander towards the front door of the safe house, unresponsive to your interrogation technique of constant pestering. Instead he links arms with you, leading you through the hallways and past your family, tears of joy and laughter tracing their cheeks. Soon you’re at the exit, rain thudding heavily against the floor as Ray opens the door, revealing the storm clouds and water spray. But you don’t care that droplets soak your skin and chill your bones, aren’t bothered by the fact Ray was pushing you into the downpour; because Ryan was there. Sheltered beneath a large umbrella in a comically adorable matching outfit, he juggles fluffy blankets and a flustered smile. “You kids have fun now,” joke Ray, hiding under the alcove and shielding from the rain.   
You roll you eyes, “yes Dad.”  
“I love you guys...”

You knew that he assumed he was out of earshot, but affection drives you to slip back to him through the puddles, arms wrapping around him. He sniffles, trying to push you weakly away, “ew, gross. Get off.”   
“Just take it Ray,” you sigh, feeling his struggles subside and arms encase you, cheek pressed against the top of your hair and holding you close. Another sniffle, his tears joining the raindrops soaking through your hair as you stand in the moment. There’s no sadness, no overwhelming anger stinging behind your eyes, instead you’re so thankful. You couldn’t ask for a better friend, and you love him so unconditionally that the prospect of having him missing from your life left a hole in your chest.

Ryan sloshes up behind you, redirecting the umbrella over Ray and yourself, having to press into the space to keep dry. “Can we have a movie night soon?” his question is muffles into your hair, resting in your arms and letting the comfort wash over him; finally able to accept that the ordeal was over. He could breathe without fear. He finally had his best friend back, and she was whole again. “Of course,” you assure, smiling into his chest while Ryan tries to get in on the hug, blankets smothering you.  
“I don’t want to see people anymore,” your friend admits sheepishly, pulling away to let Ryan in on the affection, the three of you stood within the whipping rain;   
“I know man, neither do I.”   
“I don’t like people.” At his words Ryan beams, bright and compassionate into the young and exhausted man’s eyes,   
“movies tonight. I promise.”

And with that he lets the two of you go, smiling as you giggle your way to the car together, clinging onto Ryan’s arm while he skips through the puddles. Through the roaring downpour and arms full of blankets he manages to open the car door, stuffing everything inside before motioning you to join him. In an instant he’s at the driver’s side, shaking the soggy umbrella and laying it across you, resulting in a disapproving shriek. “Ryan!”

The drive to the outskirts of Los Santos is brimming with laughter. A warm atmosphere radiating in the car, bringing sunshine on your journey despite the rain and the years melting away to the time you were young together. The Cheshire and the Vagabond didn’t exist in the moment, you were foolish and eager for the future; the possibilities endless. Every song is sung at the top of your lungs, Ryan head banging so hard his hair frays loose from his bun, stray tendrils curling past his shoulders. His smile is so full of life, eyes sparkling each time he turns to look at you; and you can only imagine that you’re the same.

The journey passes quickly, time dissipating into each belted lyric until the car pulls up to the abandoned apartment building, its rooms long since explored by the pair of you during late night hauntings. Psyching himself up and snatching back the umbrella, Ryan draws in a sharp breath before opening the door and stepping out, rain pounding against him. Still, he moves quickly to the boot of the car as you exit, rushing to join him with your arms folded, a smile plastered to your face along with your hair. He rifles around until a victorious cheer sees him pulling out a picnic basket and rug, eyes lifting to watch you struggle with the bundle of blankets. “Oh my god,” you grin at the sight, certain a smile any wider would split your cheeks, “you’re so fucking cheesy.”   
“Hey!” He defends, offended and wiggling the wicker basket at you, “I’m just grasping at straws here.”  
“Boo, you suck.”   
“you know what sucks?” Before you can respond he’s bolting away, laughing and sloshing his way to the building, leaving you in the rain. With a yell you follow after him, chasing his chuckles.

A few minutes later you resurface into the world, stepping onto the roof of the apartment block and watching the clouds churn, sun slowly setting in the distance. Luckily the space was shielded, the large concrete structure jutting out to provide some level of dry safety. Taking advantage of the opportunity the two of you begin setting up, eventually cocooning yourselves together in the blankets; picnic basket wedged in between. “So what did you bring?” You prompt, bumping shoulders and nuzzling into his neck, delighting yourself in Ryan. The warmth of his skin as he blushes under your touch, the soft tickle of his hair tracing your nose, and the subtle smell of home. Nothing, however, compared to the presence of him. Happier, healthier and more at ease than you’d seen him in the past few months spent with the crew. He was a different man, lighter and younger, healing with each day that passed by. Turning to face you, his breath brushes across your skin while you delve into his eyes’ blue depths, swimming within the crystal clear shimmers; “only the best for my lady.” With a dramatic flip the picnic basket opens, Ryan pulling out two large tubs and spoons, brandishing them with shameless pride. “It’s fucking ice cream.”  
“You got a problem with ice cream?” he raises an eyebrow, tempting you by teasing away the containers; grinning as you lash out to block the basket.   
“Hell no, pass me that.”   
“You have to do something for me first.”

At his words your eyebrows quirk, put out by the denial of ice cream. However you oblige, motioning for him to continue with an irritated huff. Now he’s smiling, embarrassed and struggling to his knees, shuffling in kneel in front of you, small _‘eh, eh, eh’_ noises emanating quietly with each movement. Now with your undivided attention, you worry about the rain dripping onto him. Though the clouds were beginning to ebb away, the remaining rain was seeping through his hair yet unable to dampen his smile. His eyes stare into yours, hands holding your own and face painted with adoration and hope. A deep and shaky breath rattles through his lungs, a warm squeeze engulfing his heart as he watches the most beautiful woman he’d ever meet sit before him, eyes like diamonds.

How could he even begin to describe the way you’d smile and leave him breathless? It would be impossible to explain how every time you’d touch him his heart would lift and worries drift away. He couldn’t thank you enough for saving him from the hole he’d dug, whether you knew what you’d done or otherwise. Without you, he feared he’d be lost in the Vagabond like Gareth had been. Ever since the first day you’d met your eyes had shined like no other. A grace to every movement as you’d spun away in a blur of sparkling midnight blue, disappearing into the crowd. Even then he knew you were the one, knew from the way your eyes would dart together across the cluttered room and melt away the world that there was no one left for him. The first time you smiled he knew he’d found you, because he’d found himself.

“I’ll never have the words to tell you how important you are, but I want to spend the rest of forever trying. I love you isn’t enough, Y/N. It never was. You are the most beautiful thing in my life, in every single way. You’re worth every fight and deserve nothing but happiness. The world is brighter with someone like you, whether you feel like it’s all crashing down or you can take it on. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, every minute of forever. Y/N, will you marry me?”

As he spills his heart the sun sets behind him, casting stubborn rays through the clouds to shines across his warm blond hair. The drifting rain reflects tiny rainbows dancing in his eyes and across the glittering diamond he caresses between his fingers; held out to you like a window into opportunity. You can’t find the words, merely nodding before launching into his waiting arms, laughter turning into joyful sobs while he holds you; bodies rocking in the rain. You can’t see through the tears when you pull away, his face swimming and overjoyed; tears pooling across his cheeks and he slides on the ring.

“Wait, isn’t this the one you got me the first time round?”  
“I, err... Ray said you wouldn’t notice.”  
“Ray knew?!”

The pitter of a stone skittering across the rooftop catches you attention, pulling Ryan up with you and walking hand in hand to curiously peer over the edge. Below stands a soggy Ray and Jeremy, waving their arms and cheering up at you, Ray’s bellow ringing out in the newfound peace.

 “JUST KISS ALREADY, JESUS.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe the ride I've been on while creating this. I've worked my heart out to produce something I'm truly proud of. I can only hope you've enjoyed coming along with me.


End file.
